Can I call you by your name?
by rumjhum88
Summary: John loves Sherlock. Sherlock plays with John's emotions, John leaves hurt. A bit soapy. Johnlock. A story of love, pain, realization and togetherness. First attempt. Don't own Sherlock or anything related. Character created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, BBC does the series.
1. Chapter 1

"Can I call you by your name?"

"Sudden? Sure."

Yes, after almost a year of a rollercoaster of a life with Sherlock it _was 'sudden'_. During that time it was only Holmes. And when John realised that he had already asked it, he had the time to think about the consequences. Sherlock will definitely start _deducing_ why this sudden request and where his deductions may lead him made John involuntarily wince. While John was riding on this train of thoughts Sherlock was looking at him with an amused expression. As John became aware of his gaze his brain involuntarily started taking notes of Sherlock's appearance. That messy mop of unruly rich brown curls could have made anybody on earth look like Medusa, but on Sherlock they looked gorgeous and even umm… _sexy!_ A broad forehead with a few worry lines and some tumbled brown curls, very vivid and lively eyebrows, eyes could not be defined by any words, simply because they were ever changing. Now cool, next piercing, then caring, again burning, look at them any time of the day and they'll never be the same twice. The nose had a twist to it, God knows what but it was prominent, striking. And the mouth, which was grinning right now, bought John back to reality.

"What are you grinning at?"

"You've suddenly discovered that I'm beautiful." The baritone said amused.

John winced again. The deductions were done. Now to face the consequences of his utterly stupid act, thinking about Sherlock in front of Sherlock.

"Err no… not suddenly…you are beautiful, you know that, everybody does…doesn't take a great mind to deduce that". John said uncomfortably but plainly.

By the time Sherlock's grin had faded, there was a smirk instead with a searching gaze looking for answers.

"I was just admiring your looks" Said John with an attempt at a smile. Sherlock quirked up an eyebrow, _really?_

"Tea!" John's way out of almost every awkward situation. Sherlock didn't say anything nor did he nod. John wasn't waiting for either. He was already up from his chair and almost running towards the kitchen.

"Interesting." Sherlock said to himself looking at John. By the time John reached the kitchen he was sweating. _"What the hell is wrong with me? Why am I behaving like this? Why do I need to call him by his name? because it's more… intimate? "_his own thoughts were beginning to scare him now. He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. _"okay"_ he said to himself. _"I've gone through many excitements, adrenalin rush for the last couple of months, maybe I'm a bit weary. I need rest and complete peace of mind for a few days. Sherlock is a difficult (to the extent of dangerous) person to live with. We had some great moments together and we are becoming very good friends very fast. There that's all, all very normal and nothing to panic about." _After this self-analysis John visibly relaxed. He poured tea in cups, put a lump sum amount of sugar in Sherlock's cup, stirred it well and took the cups to the living room. All the way thinking how he had become acquainted with the little preferences of his flat-mate. John sank in the plush arm chair holding his cup with both hands contemplating. How was he going to take rest and keep his peace of mind with Sherlock around? The yard would definitely bring a case again within a day or two and he will obviously jump at it with Sherlock or maybe he will keep playing the violin all night and keep John awake, maybe he'll blow up the house or part of the kitchen with another experiment or will keep whining all day like a five year old saying he's bored and expect John to entertain him… "I'm right here you know? You can just talk to me instead of thinking of me so much." John's thoughts came to an abrupt halt with that baritone speaking and he flushed. Oh! He hated when Sherlock spoke like he could actually hear his thoughts, he was brilliant with his deductions but he surely didn't recognize personal mind space. John cleared his throat and said "I was contemplating a holiday, just some quite time with myself and maybe a few books and good music… "

_"Boring" _Was the baritone's verdict. "I'm not asking you to come, Sherlock; you can very well stay and find something rather interesting to do. It's just that I'm a bit worked up at the moment, all that adrenalin rush plus the work, not to mention putting up with you" Said John first angrily and then warily. "Which is actually a good thing" Said Sherlock regarding the last part of what John said. John made an exasperated sound. What does he think of himself? He's a boon to mankind? Okay, he is but does he have to impose it all the time on everybody? Bloody hell. Sherlock was sitting on the couch with John's laptop. Legs crossed and the laptop on his lap. Eyes on the screen, mind God knows where. He used almost everything that belonged to John. His phone, his laptop, his food, clothes. It was like a silent agreement since John had walked in this house. It disturbed John in the beginning. Sherlock never asked before taking, he treated anything that belonged to John like his own property, even sometimes John himself. 221B Baker Street was Sherlock's world, where he owned everything. John was scared as hell that one day he may find Sherlock using his very private stuffs like tooth brush or underwear. But the man seemed to be very conscious about his cloths, so maybe at least John's under wears were safe.

"Mycroft has a farm house in Lincolnshire. We could go and stay there for a couple of days if you wish. "_and jeopardize my original intention for peace of mind _thought John. "No."he replied. "I'd prefer _peace_ to experiments and _sanity_ to your eccentricities. " "And _loneliness_ instead of being with _me_." The baritone said. Looking up at an exasperated John who was about to say something Sherlock continued "You can't seem to take your mind off me when I'm sitting in front of you, what will it be then when you are alone." John swallowed, mind not working, breathing heavy. "Why are you trying to get away from me?" The baritone sounded ominous. _Because all I can think about is you, all my thoughts lead to you, you are always around and when not around you're in my head and I'm pining for you. Whatever I'm doing these days I'm doing for you. This isn't normal Sherlock. I was used to a life without you and you can't just come along and make yourself indispensable! _ When John opened his mouth he said "That's not it! Sherlock you and I both know that it's impossible to relax while you're around!" "Oh! C'mon John you've got used to those things, you live, eat, sleep, watch TV, work, date all living with me!" Sherlock said indignantly. "Yes. I've become quite used to your eccentricities, they are part of my everyday life, but that's exactly the point Sherlock, I want some time off the everyday life and that includes you!" "What's the use John. You'll keep thinking of me." Sherlock said returning his gaze to the laptop screen, sounding bored. "You'll miss me." He added simply.

John shut his eyes closed. John Hamish Watson. An army doctor. Who has saved people and seen people die in War. Who has various war injuries on his body. He who has been through many relationships throughout his life, without finding his one true love. This person will be missing his flatmate of some months if he went on a holiday without him, even if the holiday was meant as a gateway from the same person. Yes Sherlock was right, like always, he did want to get away from him, he wanted to resettle his thoughts regarding his new life and flatmate and yes he would definitely _miss him_. John stood up making up his mind. This was enough confusion his mind was able to take for now. "Okay, I'll call it a day. Goodnight Sherlock." With that he went upstairs without looking at the man behind him who was watching him go quite intently. After the door closed behind him Sherlock's lips curled into a mischievous smile.


	2. Chapter 2

John looks at the bedside table clock. It's 6 in the morning. Eyes half closed he pulls the duvet closer to his neck and turns another side. The nightmares have considerably decreased in the last six months. He feels warm, cosy and fresh after a deep sleep. Sherlock's already awake or maybe he didn't sleep _again_. He could hear sounds from the kitchen. Tinkling sounds of glass equipment, things being moved here and there, he could almost see Sherlock's elegant pale hands at work. He was on another experiment. _Shit_. As John became fully conscious he almost dreaded that at any moment these lingering sounds maybe drowned by the sound of a blast. He had to get up, make tea, serve the git, take a bath and go to work. He was the nanny to his flat mate, who wouldn't eat or sleep or take care of any of his bodily needs unless coaxed to do so. _Oh hell, he'll not even take the phone out of his own pocket when I'm around._ Thought John affectionately, sloppily getting off the bed and putting on his dressing gown he went down stairs.

Sherlock was standing in the kitchen, hands behind back, leaning on the microscope intently. He became aware of John entering and said without turning "I made you an omelette." John almost staggered back losing all traces of sleep. Eyes widened he asked "What?!"Sherlock turned and faced him, expression nonchalant; he went to the microwave and opening it took out a plate with an omelette. He came back to face John who was agape by then and put the plate on the kitchen table in front of him "an omelette, John." Wide eyed and open mouthed John stared at Sherlock then at the food. Finally restoring mental equilibrium he swallowed and asked "is it an experiment?" with an wary look he asked "is it poisoned?. Sherlock didn't say anything; he just took a spoon, cut a piece of the omelette and ate, all the time looking at John who was giving him a suspicious look. He swallowed and crossed his arms on his chest and stared at John _does that answer your stupid question John? _written on his face. For several moments John didn't know how to react, he stood there looking at Sherlock with a surprised expression. _He cooked for me? A man who doesn't even do his own washing, doesn't clean up the kitchen after a blast caused by him, doesn't even take out the phone from his own trouser pocket cooked for me! Actually! _Finally he found the vitality to say "uh. Thanks Sherlock. That's actually very nice…"Sherlock had turned to his microscope again, totally ignoring John behind him. _I'm an idiot! _John mentally slapped his forehead. Suddenly he was embarrassed and at the same time his heart was filled with a warm feeling he never knew before. This resulted in a rather shy goofy grin on his face. He started about to make tea and make amends. What sense does it make? For a man who makes the life of all those around him hell by his eccentricities, namely putting organs in the fridge, making the kitchen blow up, treating everybody like an idiot, makes John feel like he owns him, puts him through life threatening situations, lets him do all the earthly works for the home and yet his just making an omelette for him makes John feel this way! _If it was any other man I should have totally ignored the gesture of maybe punched him in the face long ago or just won't even begin to think about staying with. But this was Sherlock. This is the closest he can come to saying thank you, after all he's a sociopath. _Thought John, smiling to himself and feeling grateful that he was the person Sherlock's generosity was extended to.

"Here's your tea." John said putting the cup next to Sherlock, "I've also put some in the flask for you. Please have a toast." Sherlock rarely ate; if he could help he wouldn't ever eat. John made it a point to put calories in him; he was a doctor and could not bear someone neglecting himself like Sherlock did. Sherlock's negligence towards himself _hurt_ him. He tricked Sherlock by applying generous amount of butter on the toasts, because Sherlock would only eat one and would definitely skip lunch saying "I ate this morning." "Umm." Was the only answer he got from his flatmate who was still hooked to the microscope. John realised he was still smiling. He sat at the kitchen table and ate and drank. Then he went to take a bath. Under the warm rain of water John thought _who would believe? Sherlock Holmes cooked for his flatmate?_ Nobody who knew Sherlock would, but he felt the urge to share this with someone, as if it were a new adventure, a _new beginning? _ John straightened himself, shocked. _Sherlock made an omelette for you, fine! Don't make a big deal out of it! Put yourself together John Watson! He's your flatmate for god sake! What are you thinking!_ John shook himself out of his daydreaming state.

"Having a good day doctor?"

John looked up from the papers on his table on which his eyes had been fixed. There was only one surgery that day which went successfully, he was busy with the reports of other patients when Sarah popped her head through his door. John smiled at her putting the papers away. She came in and sat before him.

"The surgery was successful then?" said Sarah contemplatively.

"Yes it was." Said John with a deep breath and smiled relaxing.

"Anything else?" Asked Sarah with a raised eyebrow and amused smile.

"What? No, no. nothing else." John said self-consciously.

"Want to go out for coffee?"

"Sure."

At a coffee shop not far from St. Brat's they both sat down with at a table near the window. John remembered sitting there with Sherlock once; they were watching the movements of a suspect.

"How's your flatmate?" Asked Sarah.

"Hmm?" said John a bit disoriented "Oh! He's fine." _Why is Sarah suddenly asking about Sherlock? She never does that, _thought John.

"So, are you two on a new case?"

"No, why?" John's suspicions were growing now, _where is this conversation going?_

Seeing the questioning look on John's face Sarah explained "You look like this only when it's something regarding Sherlock Holmes."

John grew more self-conscious. This was not good, not a bit, if Sarah had noticed something like this then maybe the rest of the world has too, _and oh my god! That means Sherlock too!_ John winced involuntarily. What if everybody else knew something about him which he himself didn't admit? _wait maybe I'm taking this the wrong way, maybe she means that I look excited,_ even that's not good. Failing to reach a satisfying conclusion John tensed a bit, furrowing his brows.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Aaa, what do you mean by 'look like this'?"

"Like you did this whole morning! Happy, contended, excited." Sarah said enthusiastically.

"Well it doesn't always mean it's something about Sherlock, though yes he has made my life quite enjoyable lately!" John said attempting a joke.

Sarah looked at him with empathy "What did he do to make you feel like this today?"

"Oh Sarah please don't pull that 'I'm a psychiatrist 'trick with me!" John said with an irritated look.

"I'm just pulling 'I'm your friend and you can talk to me if you want to' trick John." Sarah said with emphasis. "You clearly look like you're at war with yourself."

John turned his face away, elbows resting on the table. _I'm not at war, far worse than that, I'm lost, confused. Can I tell her that? God she has already guessed things. She's a psychiatrist, no use lying to her. And god! Even I need to confine in somebody! I can't talk about this with Sherlock! _John put his hands together. Sarah was watching him intently.

"Sherlock made me an omelette this morning." As soon as he said it he looked away from Sarah, from fear of being laughed at. What a silly thing she may think!

But she did something totally opposite. She reached out and took his hand and squeezed it gently, reassuringly. A gesture which said _it is okay, I understand._ John looked up; she smiled at him and said "It does feel good when someone special does something for us." John's eyes widened and just as he opened his mouth to say something, Sarah spoke again "Don't jump to conclusions John, take time, relax, let your thoughts your take their own course. Don't analyse too much or force yourself into anything." John let out a deep sigh and smiled back. He thanked god mentally for giving him a friend like Sarah and decided to take her advice.


	3. Chapter 3

John was watching TV siting on the sofa with a cup of tea in his hand when Sherlock burst open the front door and got inside. John started a bit, but that's all, you get used to such loud sounds and dramatic entries living with Sherlock Holmes quite early.

Sherlock almost threw his long coat at the stand and tugged ferociously at his scarf. _Uh oh bad mood. _He was growling with exasperation, brows furrowed he started restlessly pacing about the room.

"What did Lestrade do now?"

"He put me out on a damn chilly night like this for a case which required 7 minutes of thinking. I urged him to tell me on phone what the case was to which he replied 'it's very complicated' obviously it was for his level of IQ, but he should have known it was not so to _me_!"

"Why don't you sit down now, I'll bring you a cup of tea, there's a nice fire. Warm up a bit. "

"One of these days we'll be solving the case of the murdered Detective Inspector G. Lestrade or the case of his missing brain." Sherlock said ignoring John's plea.

"There is nothing of interest for me out there, Nothing! I refuse to go out!" Sherlock said almost yelling.

"Calm down would you!" Said John alarmed.

Sherlock shot John a furious look and stopped pacing. After a moment he stomped off to his bedroom.

_Nicotine patches. Of course, _thought John exasperated. He wished he could replace those by doing something himself that may help soothe the agitated consultant detective, but he didn't know what.

Sherlock came out of his room with the box in hand. "Get yourself off the sofa would you? We have all sorts of sitting arrangements in this room!" He said rudely. John was used to it, yet it hurt a bit. He got himself off the sofa and sat on an arm chair watching Sherlock.

_This man,_ thought John, _will not give in to his bodily needs like eating or sleeping, will not feel how bad it feels when he discards a person when not needed as a piece of paper, this man, totally selfish and absolutely oblivious of others' feelings yet look at him now, exasperated, angry with himself and situation, restless like a child who has no one to play with, so easily giving in to these feelings. These were feelings also, though only concerning him and not nice, he was giving in to his bodily urge of having nicotine. Does he realize all this? Does he have all the feelings, urges, necessities segregated? To which he will give in and to which he won't?_

Shirt sleeve rolled up on the right arm, four nicotine patches on it, head tilted backwards, eyes closed Sherlock was sprawling on the sofa, still with a frown. _The patches aren't working_, thought John trying to concentrate on the book in his hand. He had long turned off the TV; his flatmate was already in enough bad mood to be messed up further by crap telly. An hour passed in silence. John needed to tend the fire. He had just put the book down when he heard the baritone call him, his voice calm but commanding. "John."

John didn't expect the reaction his voice aroused in him. He felt a thrill deep inside, the voice resonating through him. This was new. _Was there something new in his voice? Or am I just behaving like a teen suddenly?_ Keeping his reaction in check he walked up to his flatmate. Sensing him Sherlock opened his eyes and propped himself up on one elbow looking at him. "Sit here." He said softly gesturing toward where his head was. John hesitated, "I need to tend the fire Sherlock." "Please." First time in his life John heard a request which sounded more like a command. He couldn't help but sit because from within he was feeling a push to find out what this was all about. As soon as he sat Sherlock put his head on his lap. John gasped. This was the most intimate thing Sherlock ever did. For a man who avoided body contact with any other person except for hand-shakes, who was sensitive about the touch of fabrics also. Those times apart when some criminal was on lose with a gun and they had to squeeze in somewhere of course. John sat awkwardly looking at the head with magnificent dark curls and a face like angel. He didn't know what to do. _Did he want me to touch him? Will it make him calm? _"um, is there anything I can do for you?" The head was warm against his lap. "Just stay." the baritone purred. After a moment or two John eased a little. Sherlock kept his eyes closed. Slowly John raised a hand and quite hesitantly stroked his flatmate's hair. Sherlock let out a sigh. _He likes it! _ John thought, and started stroking and ruffling the soft curls gently but confidently. _Now I'm a total nanny! _Thought John, chuckling in his mind. This felt good; he was able to sooth the detective, though nicotine patches had a large role to play in it. _Why did Sherlock do this? Was this something he really wanted or just another whim?_ "It does feel good when someone special does something for us." Sarah's words came back to John's mind. Sherlock was special, in so many ways, his brilliance, his control, lightning fast reasoning, his musical talents, his wit, and his eccentricities everything was above and beyond anyone John or many other people have ever encountered in their lives. He had John live again, after war, injuries and being invalided home, what life would he be living without this marvel of a man? _Yes Sherlock is special. Very special. These gestures of his make me feel wanted, needed to him. Am I special for him too?_ Suddenly Sherlock opened his eyes and stared at John breaking his reverie. The fire was going out making the room colder. "Would you mind letting me go? The room is getting cold." John said softly. Without a word Sherlock lifted his head. John's heart sank without a reason. He slowly went about tending the fire._ Yes Sherlock was special, but I'm most definitely not. How can it ever be? How stupid of me to just let my imagination run wild like that. I'll have to get a hold of myself. _

"Have you thought about our holiday in Lincolnshire?"

"huh? What? Oh that. Wait a minute when did I say that I was going there with you?"

"You didn't. That's why I'm asking. I need to ask Mycroft."

_Oh no I'm not going to let you do that_ "I haven't decided where _I want_ to go and _with whom_." John said with emphasis.

"You just have to say yes or no."

"No!"

"Good."

John ran a hand through his hair. "I think I'll just go and visit my family this weekend."

"So much for mental peace."

"Sherlock! They are my family! And I just want to get out from 221b Baker Street for some time for god's sake!" said John exasperated.

"Why?"

"I told you before."

"You said you wanted to get away from me, you didn't say why." Sherlock said making an innocent face.

"I didn't say that Sherlock!" Said John, wounded.

"Yes you did! You said that my eccentricities were a part of your daily life and you wanted to go away from that and that I make it impossible for you…"

John lost his patient and almost yelled "Oh god Sherlock! I need some time for myself!"

"Why?"

"Because I want to think!"

"About what?" Sherlock's voice rose.

"About us!" Abrupt and utter silence fell in the room.

John closed his eyes shut and turned around. _The bloody git! He knew it; obviously he knew exactly what my problem was. He just wanted to hear it from me, just get his facts checked. I fell for it! _

Dinner was a silent affair. Sherlock ate without being coaxed.


	4. Chapter 4

Short Chapter. A very matter of fact Sherlock.

* * *

_John has feelings for me. Hmm, that's good. Very good. That narrows the chances of his leaving me. I've already made his life exciting, worthwhile, he's grateful for that. But this new development makes it even better. This leaves out all the possibilities of his being emotionally attached to some other person and leaving this house. I'll just have to play along, observe which of my actions triggers the most positive reactions in him, collect data and file them for future references. Physical proximity definitely increases the response, his heartbeat increases, slight change in breathing. This is probably the best way to develop this process. Far less complicated than other, verbal expressions of emotion. Instant results, more like me. John is a great accomplice, presence of mind, good reflexes, strong, a doctor, can put up with me very well. I can trust him, great to have around when life is simply boring. Does my chores, doesn't expect much. Appreciative of my methods (though not always). I can't lose an accomplice like him; it will take immense time and search to find another like him. How unnecessary. I'll have to secure all measures to keep him with me. This experiment will also give me a deep insight into human emotions of affection, data, data, data, and a great study. The way he melts at my slightest attentions this won't be a difficult task at all. Life is not so boring after all. Thanks John. _


	5. Chapter 5

Compensating by more chapters this time. :)

* * *

_He's a sociopath. I can't feel like this about him. He's not good with emotions. So aren't I when it comes to controlling them. He may be a good man, a great friend and greater detective but the way I'm thinking about this may never work out. Maybe he'll just play along without even knowing the consequences and when he's done he'll be done. _John shuddered at his own thought. If such a thing happens the damage caused by it would be too much for John to handle. John was sitting in his dark bedroom hands on his face, deep in thoughts. _Now that the secret is out nothing's going to stop him from acting on it. Would I be able to resist the temptation of this man? Even if I'm aware that this may be just an experiment for him? Just collecting data about his flatmate? _ There were other considerations too. Since he met Sherlock he was a category onto himself, when the tingling sensations of the realisation of the feeling begun John never gave sexuality a thought. He never thought that after spending almost forty years being heterosexual he was taking a turn. It never felt like that, because Sherlock exceeded anything and everything regular or normal. He was extraordinary, he was Sherlock. But now that John had begun to understand things more profoundly this part struck him with enormity. _He didn't care. But what if Sherlock did?_ Sherlock's sexuality was a mystery like many other things about him, but there were women in his life, who were attracted to him and he was attached to them also. To what extent only Sherlock himself knew. There was so much more, Sherlock was no young girl who John could impress by just being an army doctor, with his war stories. John had nothing to impress Sherlock with, he saw him the day they met, saw through him, saw everything. He had John unarmed and naked at the very first glance. What was there for John to offer more? Except for his friendship and care? Nothing, John had nothing. Even these special emotions of his were laid bare in front of Sherlock before John could even confront them himself. John's self-pity grew; he was engulfed in a sense of being inadequate. John was facing a new dawn of realisation sitting in the dark room. He had killed for Sherlock and would do so again, he could die for that man. He wanted Sherlock to take care of himself so badly, he would feed Sherlock every now and then, coax him to sleep. Cook him food, wash his clothes, put up with him being rude, his experiments _Oh why would anyone do so much for someone if that someone was not a special one? A loved one? Who would do these for you John Watson? And how would you feel just being a friend to this person and stand and watch him with someone else?_ John's head throbbed; he could find no solution to this situation, no solace. Silent tears started falling from his closed eyes. This was something he never expected would happen to him. In war he expected to get shot, even to die, being invalided home was too not unforeseen; a psychosomatic pain in the leg, Harry's drinking problem, issues with family. He took everything nonchalantly. But Sherlock threw him off balance. He was above and beyond. And now these feelings for him, this new realisation, this added to the pain already existing and surpassed them. John silently sobbed for what felt like eternity. It was getting lighter outside the window. John sank in his bed, expecting sleep to bring oblivion for at least some time. His last thought before embracing sleep was _okay, if he starts experimenting with my feelings I'll let him, I'll show him what I feel and maybe I'll able to turn the experiment into his experience of such emotions, maybe I'll be able to turn the tables with my love. _


	6. Chapter 6

John woke up extremely late and very tired. Realising he won't be able to reach the hospital on his scheduled time he called and checked for emergencies, thankfully there were none. After rescheduling for that day he went to the shower, he didn't want to be obvious to Sherlock.

"I made you tea." Smiled Sherlock. He was sitting on the sofa with John's laptop. He looked gorgeous this morning, deep blue shirt; two buttons undone, hair slightly damp, dark trousers. He smelled of soap, shaving foam, freshly laundered cloths. John took a deep breath and smiled back. _Sherlock is being nice to me; he didn't run away from me, knowing my emotions for him. God! Could this be true? Did he also feel the same way? Am I that lucky? Or is he just…_

"Thanks." He went to the kitchen to get his tea.

He took his tea and set about to make breakfast. He put breads in the toaster and turned to find Sherlock standing close, cup in hand and eyes on the cup. "Why were you up all night?" he asked softly.

_Crying. _"Thinking."

"About _us_."

_Not a question obviously. _"Yes."

John become aware of Sherlock's piercing gaze, without looking at him he busied himself with making break-fast. He put the toasts on plates, applied butter, made eggs. John tried to ignore the fact that he was nervous and his face flushed, _please don't do this Sherlock. _He set the food on the table, sat and looked at Sherlock. "You will eat." _I just ordered Sherlock._ He started with the food. Sherlock sat without taking his eyes off John.

"So?"

"What?"

"Are we going to Lincolnshire?"

John sighed; he remembered how clearly he had said no to this only yesterday. His flatmate had accepted also, but the last conversation they had changed many things, maybe this decision also. It looks like Sherlock has plans of his own. He wanted to give this a shot. If Sherlock was insistent upon spending time together after this new development then it was worth a try. John put his spoon down and looked at Sherlock who was eating innocently and looking back.

"Yes. We are."

It didn't startle Sherlock, he simply said "Okay, I've made arrangements for tomorrow at 6."

_Why am I so obvious to this man? _thought John shaking his head at his own bewilderment.

"So, would you be taking any books or would _I_ be enough?" asked Sherlock without emotion.

John gasped and blushed. He didn't answer, quietly finished his food and went to make more tea. _He's changed so quickly! Wow, this is heady. _Johnfelt goose bumps spreading all over his body. All the time Sherlock hovered, this was pretty unsettling for John, this was new and very unlike Sherlock, and he helped with the plates and tea. He even offered to bring milk and eggs later.

"Don't bother Sherlock. You'll probably put them in the wrong places or worse use them for an experiment. Leave that to me."

"I know I'm not entirely domesticated and can never be, but I can try you know." he said looking sincere.

John smiled not looking at him. _You don't need to do this Sherlock, I'm already head over heels for you, and you are already too good for me._ He sighed as his smile vanished.

"John, you keep sighing like a school girl in love." Sherlock said, amused.

_Again! Sherlock is hell bent on teasing me!_ John checked his emotions and turned to face his flatmate. "I should be off, already rescheduled, don't want to be late for that also."

_Did I overdo anything? Isn't this what is called flirting? I'll have to check, _Sherlock made up his mind to consult the internet.

It was a damn chilly January day. John was re-enacting the episode of the morning in his mind as he walked towards his work place. _At least Sherlock didn't run for the hills after knowing my feelings for him, _thought John. _It can be a good thing or it can be a bad thing. It can be that Sherlock reciprocated or at least appreciated my feelings for him, or it can be that he just wanted to find out how this thing works, how John behaves, what changes come in their present relationship, put this situation under a mental microscope and just analyse. Sociopaths don't fall in love, they treat is as a pass time, a game. A mind game, Sherlock loved those. He didn't seem morose for not having a case and it has been three days since his last. Maybe he's enjoying seeing me like his control, falling for him, melting at his slightest attentions. But for how long will this amuse him? _ The thought pained John. He prayed silently, _please god, don't let it be that._ He remembered his last night resolution and he straightened up. _Okay, _he said to himself, _I'll treat him with all the love and passion I'm capable of, I'll make him see how beautifully this can work out between us. I'll show him how much he means to me. How much I love him. I'll try my best to turn the tables. _He promised himself.

"You packed my bags?!"

"Saves time." The baritone said succinctly.

"Do sleep tonight John. It's a long journey tomorrow."

John remembered Sherlock asking him whether he wanted books or not. John angered a bit thinking Sherlock had gone through his things, again. _Oh well, he has done it so many times now, he was trying to help._


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you for following and reviews

* * *

Sherlock refused to eat that night. "Don't make me eat before a long journey John, it makes me feel heavy, tired and anyway I ate this afternoon." John didn't coax further, he needed sleep.

The morning air shook John to his bones. _Wow! Where did I get the idea to go on a holiday at a time like this? Oh right I wanted to be alone, I wanted to be away from the man who is sitting right beside me reading the newspaper. How exactly did I get myself talked into this?_

Sherlock seemed oblivious to the cold; he sat reading the newspaper silently. _Okay, more flirtations. _Sherlock suddenly looked at John and smiled. John was taken aback with the gesture; Sherlock never did that, unless it was sarcasm of some sort. He asked incredulously, "what?"

"You look good." Sherlock said still smiling and leaned closer and sniffed John.

_Is…is he flirting with me? _John felt the hair on his nape stand at the proximity of Sherlock.

"You have a smell of your own." Murmured Sherlock, "How come I didn't notice it before?"

_You're making driving difficult for me, _thought John trying to focus on the road. "Everybody has a distinct smell of their own, you too. It comes from the…" He said softly.

_Oh c'mon John I know that. _"What do I smell like?" Asked Sherlock, cutting John midsentence.

_You smell like earth on a sunny day. _"You smell like you" John said with a sigh.

"Which is like?"

_My favourite perfume on earth. _Before John could make up something straight and not so utterly romantic to say to the man his stomach growled. It demanded breakfast. He was embarrassed as well as thankful,

Sherlock spoke "this is the one time I don't have to read your mind; your stomach is always so vocal about its needs."

John snorted "that was really charming Sherlock."

"The food is in the back."

John inadvertently slowed the car. _Sherlock bought food? Without being reminded? _ It took a while for John to grasp this new development. "I knew you would be hungry." To anybody else John could have said _yeah like you won't! _But this was Sherlock. _Sherlock is actually taking care of me?! this cannot be just an experiment. He's not such a sociopath after all! _John parked the car, a small smile on his face he looked at Sherlock and said "thanks."

"No pressure." Sherlock smiled warmly.

John melted when he found the food was his favorite sandwiches.

"Now, now don't make a face; you didn't have dinner last night. Have a sandwich, please."

Sherlock resigned after much coaxing and ate one sandwich, which John fed him. John couldn't stop smiling at his victory. His heart was warm on that very chilly day. Sherlock never took the steering and fell asleep soon after, hugging his own body. Head stooping in front, some stray curls caressing his forehead. There was a warm glow about him. John tried his best to concentrate on the road, trying to control his wavering attention which wanted to focus on that genteel sleeping face. _I can't end our story in an accident right before a new turn._ John was dog tired when he reached the house; he parked the car with a jerk so that his flatmate would wake with a jolt. "Wake up sleepy head, we're here."


	8. Chapter 8

The cottage was the most beautiful one, surrounded by trees, garden, and rock fence. As long as you could stretch your eyes there lay lush green fields. The air, the smell, the silence. It was right out of a picture post card. John was stunned by the beauty of the surroundings, he didn't notice Sherlock getting out of the car and standing beside him. He felt a warm wool covered hand on his hand, he turned as if in a trance to find Sherlock looking at him, a questioning look on his face. John smiled and without even knowing he entwined their fingers. Moments where eternities are lived passed between them. He felt the peace he was looking for. _And to think I wanted to be away from this man to find peace, peace is right here, right now, with Sherlock. _Something inside John's heart was warm, heavy, at the same time light. He feared he may start to cry; he looked away and pulled Sherlock, "go in, I'll get the bags." Sherlock would have made him take the bags anyway, he was used to servitude. John smiled to himself at the thought. His mind was completely at rest, no doubts, no agitation. The rooms were cosy with Victorian furnishings. Two bedrooms upstairs, kitchen and hall downstairs. Sherlock insisted on not having any servants, so there was only an elderly woman with dark brown hair and a kind face. She would come early in the morning and go home before sunset. Some of Mycroft's men were on watch of course, but they were invisible to them as usual. There was only John and Sherlock and beauty of the surroundings.

"Did you come here as a child?" John asked, sitting by the fire, they had bathed and had tea and arranged their rooms.

"No." the baritone said. He didn't seem to be in a chatty mood, eyes fixed on the fire, head resting on the back of a Victorian arm chair. He looked deep in thought, _a bit agitated?_ thought John. He kept silent, coaxing Sherlock to talk when he looked like this was a bad idea. John didn't want to spoil the vacation that had started so beautifully. _He'll come around. I hope._

Lunch was silent too. They retired to their rooms after that. John had started feeling agitated by then.

_He does this all the time; I've seen him not talking for days so why am I feeling like this now? God I've become so vulnerable, overthinking everything, trying to derive meaning from everything he does. This is Sherlock; he was always like this, unpredictable. One moment he's flirting the next he's ignoring. no change whatsoever has come in him. Is that why I'm disturbed? Did I expect him to change with this new development? _ _What exactly did I expect? Well, I expected him to say something, about earlier, about his holding my hand, make it feel right; make it feel like it was meant to happen and not just a whim. That's it. He's behaviour is confusing, they don't seem to fit the gestures. They don't feel like coming from a man in love. Why? _John sat on a plush Victorian double bed with a deep frown.

In the next room Sherlock sat on a same bed, back resting on the wall, legs sprawled and crossed in front, fingers stapled under his chin. He too disturbed. Something in his plans didn't seem to work like he wanted it to.

_John is coming around fine. He doesn't doubt my gestures, how can he? They are extremely well calculated and well-trimmed. No exaggeration so far. What disturbs me is his look, when we held hands. He looked as if he was beyond this situation, beyond that moment, lost… in…me? I've never seen him like this. I've never seen anyone look at me like this. This is unsettling. What if things change after this, what if he changes? What changes do come after two people reciprocate? Do they lose what they had earlier? God I have next to nothing data. His feelings run deep, I know that. I'll need to exploit that depth to keep him. I'll need to make him helpless with his emotions for me, so that even if he figures out my intentions he won't be able to do anything. Why would he complain anyway? He wants me, wants to be with me, I'm giving him just that and securing him for life in the process, we both get what we want. I have to speed things up a bit, have to give him a nudge; he didn't take my silence quite well._

* * *

When John came down that evening he found Sherlock in the kitchen. _Has he carried his experiments here? God please no! _but when he turned around there was a kettle in his hands and a smile on his face.

"I'm becoming a pro at this John!" he exclaimed.

John gave a kind appreciative smile and a small nod.

"Care for a cup cake?"

"Sure." John sat down at the kitchen table looking at his flatmate. His agitation from the morning giving away to something warmer. Sherlock was struggling with the mugs and the cup-cakes. _He is usually so sorted out, so composed, why is he fumbling now? Is he nervous? _John walked up to him and took the cup-cakes. Then they put everything on the table and sat facing each other. Silence for a few moments. Before it got too awkward John opened his mouth,

"You must be bored."

"why should I be." Sherlock said looking away sipping tea.

_Because there's nothing of interest for you here. You barely like to just relax. _"It's just resting, you can't even go out at night. It's cold."

"Do you want to?" Sherlock looked straight at John, gaze piercing. John couldn't understand the sudden change of mood. He couldn't tell if Sherlock was angry or genuinely asking. Sherlock's face gave nothing away.

"No, we can go tomorrow morning."

"What do you want now John?"

Something in that tone made John swallow. He didn't know what to answer to that tone more than the question itself. It was dark, cold, steely, passionate, forbidden, enticing all at the same time. He felt his palms sweating, he kept looking at Sherlock like a moth looking at a flame.

"wh-what?" He stammered after a while.

Sherlock relaxed his gaze.

"You wanted to come here. Here we are. Now what are your plans? What do you want to do?"

John audibly sighed and Sherlock gave him a mocking smile. John hated that smile.

"well, you're the planner. Not me. Whatever I suggest would be boring to you." He said looking at the cup in hand.

This was the first time Sherlock didn't have anything planned. His mind was preoccupied with some other plans totally. He hardly had any time to plan other things about this trip. He was at a disadvantage. He was frustrated. And now John relied on his plans. _Great! _He thought. He ran a hand through his hair.

John knew this gesture very well. His flatmate was exasperated with something. _What is it?_

"You okay?"

"why wouldn't I be?" Said Sherlock with a fake smile.

John saw through that smile. _Something is definitely bothering him. _He extended his hand and placed it on Sherlock's. Their eyes met.

Sherlock's eyes were searching for answers. _What if I don't have planes John? What if my only plan is you? I want to concentrate on what I'm doing. What I'm doing to you. I haven't planned going out or doing something. How would I behave then? What would bring positive results? A walk? A drive? Holding hands? A Kiss?_

Sherlock's eyes widened at the thought. He withdrew his hand.

John was looking at him hiding nothing. He wanted Sherlock to read him, to read him right. He was looking at him with anticipation of understanding when Sherlock withdrew. John was shocked. _Did I frighten him with my openness?_

"I haven't planned anything, John." Sherlock said apologetically looking at the table. "I thought you wanted to rest."

"Is that what you are worried about? Mr Planner doesn't have a plan?" John asked relieved.

Sherlock saw the relief in John's eyes. He didn't miss the opportunity.

"Yes, John. Would you mind staying in?" He looked at him longingly.

"Not at all." John said reassuringly. "It's too cold anyway." He added.

Now it was Sherlock's turn to feel relieved.

After a while they were sitting by the fire in the hall cum living room. John sat with a book he could hardly concentrate on. His mind kept going back to their last conversation. Something was very uncanny and out of place about the whole thing. _Sherlock didn't have a plan, he didn't want to go out and he said he wasn't bored. _ _He sounded apologetic when he said he hadn't planned. He should have just said it's your vacation John, it's your problem. That's what he does, that's how he is. He can't change this drastically. Can he? Why does he want to stay in?_

Sherlock was moving restlessly in the arm chair before the fire for a couple of minutes now. He was trying hard to form a plan of going out tomorrow. At last he felt it won't work out without a little stimulation. He stood up and turned to go to his room. As soon as he turned he met John's questioning gaze.

"I-uh, need to…"

John put the book aside. He was on the sofa. He moved to one side of the sofa leaving much space on the other side. He then gestured Sherlock to come to him. _ You don't need those damned nicotine patches Sherlock. Let me heal you. I can._

Sherlock's eyes widened at the gesture. _What am I thinking of? This is an open invitation. He wants me. I can use this opportunity. He is giving this in my hand. Why do I find it so hard then? _ After some initial reluctance, Sherlock slowly went towards his flatmate. He sat on the furthest side of the sofa leaving much space between them. John gestured to his lap as if to a child and Sherlock yielded this time. He slowly came closer and let his head rest on John's lap like he did before one day.

As soon as he felt John's fingers in his hair the initial rigidity left his body. He let himself relax under the touch. John was looking at him. Smiling. He could feel Sherlock relax under his touch. _I told you I can. _He mused.

_How does John always look so warm? It's like a warm aura around him. Is it his golden brown hair? Or is it his eyes? They are…honey coloured right? No wait, it's like amber no there's more brown…what is it exactly like?_

"What colour is that… " Sherlock thought aloud.

"Of what?" John asked softly as if o a child.

"Your eyes…"

"they are just brown I think."

"Not 'just brown'. You know so little about yourself." Sherlock looked amazed.

_I hope you know everything about me Sherlock. Everything I haven't told you._

With every stroke of John's hand Sherlock felt more and more at ease. The anxiety gone, the urge to take nicotine gone, the apprehension about what was going to be gone. They just left his body with every stroke of John's hand He closed his eyes and gave in to the sensations. Who had caresses him like this last? Mother. Mum liked to run her hands through his curls. He was mum's favourite. Mum was his favourite. Then mum was gone. He couldn't find another favourite person for years. A person who could sooth him, handle him, feel him, cope with him, stay with him. A person who would not leave him. He found out early that people didn't like to stay with him. He knew now that there were tactics to keep people. He didn't understand why. Mum stayed without anything like that. Other people needed it. He wanted to master it. He will keep John. He felt a sudden urge to turn and hold John, to rub his face in his stomach. To stay like that and purr. Like he did before, only to mum. But mum was gone. She died. Now John would go if he didn't keep him. He needed to use methods, not memories. He needed not to give in like this. He needed control which he was losing right now.

He forced his eyes open only to find John's lips very close to his forehead. Before he knew it they were pressed against his forehead. He felt the place burn. He pushed John with both hands and sat up.

_No! no. I control this. Not you. Don't make me feel like this. No!_

He stood up instantly and ran up-stairs leaving a very hurt looking John on the sofa. As he closed the door of his bedroom he leaned against it and put his hands on his face. _What am I doing! What the hell am I doing! I'm not used to these and won't get used to these. John is not mum! And I can't place him there. No! that place is taken. Neither do I have a place like that for anyone anymore nor would I make one. He's John, just John, ordinary John, a person who needs to be allured to be kept. He can never feel like this. People don't. I won't put myself through this. I need control. Over myself, over John. _

A knock on the door startled him.

"Sherlock, are you okay?" John's voice, leaden with concern.

He didn't answer.

"I'm sorry if I did anything to offend you." John said after a pause.

After a few moments John left the door. Sherlock Sighed relief.

John went to his room with a very heavy heart. _I scared him, I crossed the limit. I hurried things. Please forgive me Sherlock. Please…_

Neither of them slept that night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you everyone. Hope I don't disappoint you.**

* * *

Sherlock kept himself locked for the rest of the night and the whole next day. After repeated pleadings from John he came down at lunch.

"Sherlock I…" John started only to be cut mid-sentence.

"It's okay." He said without looking at John.

"I wanted to say that I understand this is very new to you…"

Sherlock looked up, "which is?"

"This…" John lost words, how could he define this? A beginning of a relationship? Love? Feelings?

"The way we are for the last couple of days…"

Sherlock kept his mask on.

"Don't you understand what I'm talking about?"

"maybe I will if you tell me clearly, John." Voice devoid of any emotion.

_What does he want me to say? Why is he acting like this? Why is he making me feel awkward? If I say my feelings now they may very well end up one sided. I can't read him. What is going on here?_

John decided to take a more straight forward approach.

"Sherlock, about last night…"

"I'm sorry."

"What?!" John asked, dazed by this sudden and first apology from the man.

"I over reacted a bit. I had to make an urgent call."

John couldn't take this answer seriously, he needed an explanation.

"Sherlock I do believe that the best way to sort things out is to talk about it."

"What's there to talk about?" Sherlock asked incredulously.

John was going beyond confusion and patience. Sherlock took one look and understood. He looked at John closely and said deeply.

"Give me some time, John. Please."

John calmed a bit. After all it was not every day that he got to hear a _please_ from the only consultant detective. But his mind stayed agitated. Some of the things needed to be cleared. Like where were things headed, what did Sherlock feel about him, is there any chance that he reciprocates? For now John decided to keep quite. But they would have to talk soon or else he would go mad.

As soon as Sherlock came back to his room and closed the door, he let out a sigh of relief. _That was close. What John started to talk about I wasn't at all prepared for. I thought he would just keep quiet feeling guilty. At least my running did not have a negative impact on the situation. He was not angry with me. Okay I can't delay this further, he will be asking questions again. Okay John, this evening I tell you what you want to hear and in return you'll tell me what I want._

* * *

Sherlock came down from his room in the evening to find John in the kitchen. There was an old fashioned fire in the kitchen where food could be cooked; the room was alight with the fire and one electric lamp. The kitchen was stocked. There were muffins on the table and biscuits. John poured tea in the cups and turned around. He gave Sherlock a silent look at the doorway. Sherlock came in and sat at the kitchen table. John served tea and sat in front of him. After a moment of silence John spoke.

"We need to talk."

"About _us_."

"Yes" John said trying to put some confidence in his voice. _I shouldn't think that things would turn out to be the worse, let me try. _

Sherlock looked deep into his eyes, put both of his hands under his chin.

John licked his lips and started. "My feelings towards you are no secret to you." _Great going John._

Sherlock just held John with his gaze.

"You seem to be appreciative of them." John looked hesitant. _At least it seemed like that when we came here._

"Go on." the baritone commanded.

"I want to ask what your feelings about me are."

"You want to know if I'm experimenting on you." Sherlock's voice cold.

"Yes Sherlock. Because this experiment can kill the Guinea pig."

Sherlock turned and looked at the fire with a sigh.

"You see John, the fire can warm us, give life, it can burn us also, take life. All depends on how you use it."

"What do you mean?" John sounded bewildered. His expression pained.

Sherlock checked himself; _this is the wrong way to go. I should confirm his ideas about the situation to gain trust. _"I'm not very good with emotions John, all this is very new to me. I'm trying by what little means I can to show you that I _care_. I wouldn't have come here if I hadn't the slightest wish to reciprocate your feelings."

"That doesn't answer my question Sherlock, why are you doing it?"

"Because I want to". Said the baritone warmly. Because I care."

John had his heart in his mouth, his breathing heavy, heart beat almost audible. _He said it! The best he can! I haven't but he did. This is true! He does have the same feelings. Oh how could I have ever doubted him? Doubted my Sherlock? _He was suppressing his urge to pounce on Sherlock and pour his heart into a kiss. But he restrained himself. Maybe it would be too early for that, it may scare the sociopath again. There still remained a lingering doubt at the back of his mind. He forcefully avoided it.

He tried his best to act normal. The tea had gone cold; he got up with the cups trying very hard to keep steady and avoiding eye contact and poured fresh tea replacing the cold. All the while Sherlock's eyes followed him. As he gave Sherlock his cup nervously, Sherlock caught his hand firmly and stood up in one swift graceful movement. The space between them was dangerously less; John could feel Sherlock's breath, his smell, his eyes piercing John's soul. John felt like he had no brain, his body a trembling leaf made of sensations.

Without any warning Sherlock snaked an arm around John's waist under his jacket. John gasped, his breathing ragged. _This was happening too fast. Or should it have happened long before? _ John's reasoning gave way when he felt Sherlock's other hand on the nape of his neck. He stopped breathing altogether. Before he could let out the breath, before he could grasp what was happening to him Sherlock had pressed his lips firmly on his. It took John a while to come back to his senses; he was paralysed with sensations, his body involuntarily shaking. Soft plush lips rested on his lips, lightly, just grazing now. Not just any lips, not just a girl he had dated for a week and who in another week will turn into oblivion. Not just a kiss which gave physical pleasure. Not just a kiss in any way. Out of ordinary just like Sherlock. It was Sherlock kissing him, the man who controlled him body and soul, the man who owned him ever since they met. The man who made his life worth living, the man he loved most. As John was flushed with emotions he slowly put his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and held him close, he returned the kiss. He felt Sherlock tense; he pressed his lips more against Sherlock's. He could spend his life like this. No other sound except for the fire burning, ragged breathing of two people madly in love. Sherlock was warm, his long limbs made John feel safe, the safest he had ever felt in his life. He felt there were no war, no gunfire, no death, no wound, no nightmares, no danger, they simply couldn't exist. They didn't in Sherlock's embrace.

_Oh god! He kissed me back. How can someone crave my touch like this? I need to keep my distance. This is too intense, I should have waited, learned my limits. John's giving the expected reactions, but I'm going beyond my expectations. He's making me feel…no! I can't crave for him, I need him to crave for me or the whole thing would go reverse. I'll be pining for him. I need to be cautious. Have to keep a check on me from the next time of physical encounter such as this. Once I've achieved what I seek I'll considerably lessen such experiences. I just need to play along just for now. Just now._ _Stay focused. John me kiss. Something is very wrong with this situation. I'm… I'm losing control…over John…over myself! No!_

John felt as if somebody took out something from his body when Sherlock withdrew himself awkwardly from him. John felt empty. He was pining for Sherlock's contact and looked at him longingly; he felt his eyelids were moist. For a moment he couldn't understand the look on Sherlock's face, he was too preoccupied with his own feelings. When he did, his heart sank. There was agitation, bewilderment, surprise but no _love_. Sherlock was exactly the opposite of what John was looking like now.

"What's wrong?" John's voice was broken.

"N-nothing. Why are you crying?" Sherlock saying stammering, his voice disturbed. A frown forming on his face.

"Because I love you so much Sherlock, it hurts. My heart aches with the intensity of our relationship, of our love." John said. _This must be so new for him. He must think that I'm sad. Dear Sherlock this is so new to you._

"Relationship?" Sherlock sounded lost. His eyes intensely confused.

"Yes Sherlock, when two people love each other they form a relationship."

"I know that." Sherlock snapped.

John winced and looked back with an anguished look. _Doesn't he want that?_

_No no no John! This is not what I want! I want you to be the way you always were. Helping me on cases, working with me and for me, living with me, being there like you were before. I don't want to change that into some boyfriend girlfriend romance! I just need you to be just like you were and stay with me always. I'm your friend, the others are only acquaintances, I'm your flatmate, and you live with me. Now let me be your love also so there is no space left for anyone else to step in and distract you. I want you John! I want you to love me! just that so you don't leave me. I must have foreseen this situation, how clumsy of me. I need to figure a way out of this. I need to take this easy._

John's look alarmed Sherlock. He halted his thought process.

"Forgive me John, it's just pretty confusing. I want you …I mean us to be exactly like we were before. I don't want to lose your friendship." Sherlock said convincingly.

John's mind was working overtime, it was half alarmed and half bewildered. Something about this situation was not right, something about Sherlock was not right. He struggled to put aside the overwhelming feelings for his flatmate for once and think clearly.

"Being in a relationship doesn't kill the friendship Sherlock; it's just the next step." John said trying to keep his calm.

"Of course. John, as I told you before, I'm new to these emotions, I'm a self-confessed sociopath. Please guide me." Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"But we won't be exactly the same." John said. His eyes dry, jaw tensed, and body in solider posture.

"Oh." Said Sherlock, curtly. "What exact changes would come?" he asked cautiously.

John closed his eyes and took a deep steadying breath. This was high time he should listen to his intuitions and confront Sherlock; he has been too much in awe with him. His soldier instincts told him to protect himself from potential threat. Sherlock did not look like someone who was in love, nor did he sound like that. He's clever but this is new territory.

John faced Sherlock and said in a cool voice, "You don't love me. Do you Sherlock?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you**

* * *

_Didn't I just tell him that I did? What went wrong with that?_

"Why do you say so John?" Sherlock asked hiding his bewilderment.

"You played nice, but you are new to this and you can't fake something like love for very long, even if the other person is deeply attached to you."

Sensing his original plans have been exposed Sherlock mentally cursed himself. He dropped the façade and faced the situation head on.

"Why did you do it?"

"I wanted to keep you with me."

"By _faking_ to love me? so that I don't fall for anyone else and leave you, ever? You wanted to exploit my feelings for you."

"Yes."

_Wow! That's why no matter how happy I was it didn't ring right. Sherlock was hurrying things, they didn't fall into place. He didn't know what he was doing. And I…_

"As I said before John, fire warms us but it can also burn us. It depends on how you use it. You can take this situation in your stride, you want to be with me, and I also want that, that is where this whole thing leads to doesn't it? "

John said nothing, still confused. _Did Sherlock do this knowingly? Or was this his own twisted way of showing care? Does he or doesn't he understand that this is called playing with someone's emotions?_.

After a few moments Sherlock resumed,

"Or you can just go ahead and feel I tricked you in some way. Which would be actually very stupid. John this whole emotional _thing_ is nothing for me, I hardly care for kisses and caress, but _you_ do and _you_ seek it. I just wanted to be appreciative of those…feelings of yours towards me, why is that wrong? If I didn't feign to reciprocate you would begin your search again, finding mindless women and dating them, I don't have a problem with that, you can very well do those but you can't leave the house and me and our partnership as we have it, I wanted everything to be the same as they are. Don't you see this is the best way things could be just as they are?"

John jolted back to reality with these words. _Sherlock knew what he was doing; he had no original feelings behind what he did so far. He's trying to defend what he did, trying to reason why he played with my emotions. Oh and his reasoning is as sound as ever, just that they are wrong this time. He can't justify the pain has he caused me and doesn't even realise that. And here I was madly in love with this man whom human emotions can't touch. Thinking I could turn the tables with my love, this man does not understand love, does not have the capacity to love. And I loved. _John smiled sadly to himself.

Sherlock couldn't understand if his words reached John or not. He said with finality "I need you John."

John winced. He prayed to god for strength.

_What wouldn't I give to hear these words from this man? only if they meant what they should. Only if the reason behind them was love and not usefulness of me, only if Sherlock said this to me because he loved me and not because he wanted to use me._

"I'll be with you, care for you, caress you if you want it what else is love? What else do you want from me?"

"Feigning to reciprocate someone's feelings for you without actually having them is called playing with someone's emotions Sherlock. Not love."

"What did you expect me to do? Not do this and make way for some incorrigible woman to take you away in the name of that filthy emotion called _love_?!" Sherlock's voice was rough; "What good would it do to you? What good it do to us? You are a great accomplish John, a great friend and I can't afford to lose you!" He was getting impatient with John's silence. He wanted him to confirm his deductions even praise him for his brilliant and convenient plan.

_That's all I am to you Sherlock. A valuable accomplish, a friend who helps you around, a person who puts up with you and your methods, a sidekick. Now it's all clear Sherlock. _John crossed his arms on his chest, back straight, he looked into Sherlock's eyes, smiled tiredly and said, "Your _reasons _were right Sherlock as always, but your _feelings_ were wrong."

John turned and left a dumbstruck Sherlock alone for the rest of the night.

Their vacation was a very short one after this conversation. Next morning their car was on the way to Baker Street. Sherlock sat looking outside, too furious to say anything. He couldn't believe the level of stupidity in John, how couldn't John see that this was the perfect logical way of conducting things? How could he be so blind? So _emotional._ It was okay that John had found out that he was playing along, but they both would have profited from it, why didn't he see _that_? He was getting the kind of attention he craved from Sherlock and towards a good end then why was it not enough? Why couldn't he just let it go on like that? _Oh right! Love! I didn't love him! That magical word that turns an otherwise acceptably intelligent person like John Watson into this whining, simpering, illogical mess. _Sherlock thought with disgust.

John was too hurt to think about anything. The fire had burned him inside out.

* * *

"It was too good to be true anyway" John sighed looking out of the window of the coffee shop where he and Sarah used to go. It had been two days since their return from the very eventful vacation.

Sarah felt the pain John was going through, she had a feeling something like this would happen. She had seen these people together. John mesmerized by Sherlock, happy when he's around, alive, fun. The way John looked at Sherlock the admiration, care in his eyes were too clear to go unnoticed. As for Sherlock, he enjoyed it, he took John for granted. It was obvious that either he would drag along John or do what he did. Love from such a man was too much of an expectation. Somewhere in the back of his mind John also knew this, so the whole façade didn't last long. Sarah sighed and looked at John sadly, _but the damage was done._

"Why don't you move out?"

John smiled a sad smile. "I'm used to his being around."

Sarah had to look away. _He still loves that man so much, what a fool a man as intelligent as Sherlock Holmes is, not to recognize this precious thing._

John didn't move out because he still had hope. He hoped that Sherlock someday will recognize the feelings, sort them out. Understand that what he did was wrong and understand what it means to be loved.

But living with Sherlock was becoming increasingly difficult. John tried his best to avoid his flatmate but Sherlock was hell bent on getting John's attention. He would put all the food out of the fridge and leave no space for anything else putting entrails, finger, worms and experiments in it. He would cover the kitchen table with all sorts of things, always occupy John's laptop even if he didn't need it, sprawl on the sofa when John intended to watch TV and talk incessantly. John avoided making any comments. When he saw a multi-coloured liquid in the fridge where eggs were supposed to be, he kept quiet, when he found his laptop always occupied he kept quiet, when he couldn't find his unfinished novel he kept quiet. He never confronted Sherlock with anything, if he became too intolerable John just went upstairs and stayed there. Sherlock tried new technics every day. Once he didn't eat anything for two days. John noticed and asked Mrs Hudson to do something about it.

"What has that git done now?" Asked Mrs Hudson angrily.

"Isn't eating" John explained succinctly.

"No, No. I mean why aren't you talking to him?"

John didn't reply.

Next, Sherlock went to St. Brat's to visit John during his working hours.

"Do you need a surgery?" John asked without concealing his irritation.

"Yes doctor, an open heart one." Sherlock said with an innocent look.

"You'll need to consult the cardiologist then, which I'm not. By the way you don't have one of those to operate on."

"It's one of the vital organs, doctor, how very silly of you to say something so unprofessional."

"As much unprofessional as to come and disturb a doctor without any reason during working hours. Please leave Sherlock I have people waiting who need my attention more than you."

Sherlock's tenacity was overwhelming but John's hurt was profound.

Two weeks had passed since they were back from Lincolnshire. Things were in a status quo. Sherlock was determined to break the ice. He had to do something to convince John, to make him talk.

"John there's a new case!"

John was sitting on his bed, a book in hand. He looked up to see a very enthusiastic Sherlock in the middle of the room, all ready to go out.

"I'm happy that you've found some diversion." John said without emotion.

Sherlock's face fell. _It's a case! And John is not interested? What the hell is wrong with this guy?_

"Don't you want to come along?" Sherlock asked bewildered.

"I'm sure it's in capable hands. It'll only take you a few minutes I'm sure, why bother." John said turning his attention back to his book.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" Sherlock exploded. His eyes wide, burning blue, breathing ragged, and hands fisted.

John calmly looked up from his book, put it aside and stood up to face his angry flat mate.

"Why do you need me Sherlock, you are more capable than I am." He asked coolly.

"That hasn't stopped you from coming with me before." Sherlock said with some restrain.

"I don't want to anymore." _There you go Sherlock, do you still think I'm useful to you?_

"You can't do this to me John." Sherlock's voice was menacing.

_After what you did to me? oh yes I can. _John stood looking.

Sherlock ran his hands through his hair, exasperated. "why are you doing this?"

"People change you know? You thought if you could keep me here forever things would remain the same; I'm just proving you wrong. Things can change anytime, irrespective of whether I live with you or not."

"So, that is what this is all about, you want to prove that if we were in a relationship there wouldn't have been a change in our circumstances, you want to blackmail me into believing it, but everything would not have been the same John! Look at the proof! Your stupid feelings have made our lives a mess! And for the relationship part I made you a pretty good offer!." Sherlock said bitterly.

"Exploiting others' emotions for personal profit is a game you excel in Sherlock, not me." John tried very hard to supress the anger surging through him. "You didn't propose to have a relationship with me, you proposed that I love and live with you in exchange of some considerations on your part instead of feelings." _I deserve far better than that Sherlock._

"Look where your _feelings_ have led you! You're a sham of the man I knew, the man who was my friend and colleague, a man who was useful to me in so many ways!" Shouted Sherlock.

John closed his eyes as a bitter smile spread on his face. _You said it at last Sherlock; I was no more useful to you. Because I didn't let you do what you wanted to do with me, as I always did._

"It's good to hear that I was once _useful_ to you." John's voice broke.

"Past tense John Watson" Saying that Sherlock left in a whirl of coat tails slamming the door behind him.

John sank into his bed. Useless tears of a useless person wet the pillow.

Next morning John was relieved to find that his flatmate wasn't home. He resolved to move out of 221B within the next few days.


	11. Chapter 11

Please tell me if you want me to continue.

* * *

"Why didn't you just move in with me?" Harry asked irritated.

"I found a new place. I'll move out within this week."

"I can't believe you remained with that freak for so long." Harry hissed throwing a pathetic look at her brother, "and let him use you some more."

John remained silent.

"You're so naive when it comes to matters of the heart brother, you fall for everyone who uses you."

"Quite the contrary, people I love end up using me. Like you."

Harry couldn't believe her ears, here was her brother hurt, broken, used by his love and flatmate and he was accusing _her_?

"You know I love you and no matter what you do I'll forgive you, so you break your promise of controlling your alcohol consumption and expect to be forgiven, you skip your appointments with Sarah and want me to forgive you, you use me when you lie to me about your drinking." John looked up at a dumbstruck Harry, "You use me, my love for you on each and every occasion." After a few moments John left.

Harry sat there for a long time as realisation struck her, there was not much difference between her and Sherlock, she too hurt her brother because he loved her. Silent tears fell from her eyes as she whispered the words "Sorry Johnny."

John got home late that night after visiting Harry and taking a walk. Sherlock was home. John went directly upstairs. As he changed and washed up he remembered his conversation with Sarah the day before.

"Have you told him?" asked Sarah in her chamber; she didn't have many patients that day.

"I think he knows."_ Obviously he has checked which sites I visited on the laptop, the papers were marked. He was after all the most observant man in the world._

"Didn't he say anything?" Asked Sarah, hesitation and sympathy in her voice.

"No." _He doesn't take notice of discarded things. _

"Maybe you should talk to him for one last time, don't leave anything unresolved. You two have spent a long time together; it'll seem out of place if you just leave. "

John consented.

John thought about talking to Sherlock one last time. This was Thursday night, he would move out on Saturday. Maybe Sherlock would be out on a case and they would not get the opportunity to say formal good byes. _A formality, that's what is left of us, _thought John as he descended the stairs toward the living room. He took a deep breath and gathered some courage to face his angry, sarcastic flatmate.

The moment he opened the door he wished he hadn't.

Sherlock was standing between the TV and the sofa, _Irene Adler_ in his arms. His hair was messed, cloths rumpled, breathing heavy, the excitement still in his eyes. One of his hands was around Irene's waist and the other was inside her red silk shirt of which the buttons were undone. Their lips said they were kissing. The couple was looking at him, startled, awkward. John had intruded in a very intense love making scene including the man he loved.

John felt a bout of nausea, extreme panic and vertigo at once. His feet were refusing to support his weight. Blood was surging through him, something cold was moving along his spine. Where was he? 221B Baker Street? or the battle field? A bullet had just missed him by inches, and as he looked back to find what it had hit he found his mate lying beside him. He tried very hard to keep firing and give attention to his dying mate. In a moment of cease fire his dying mate held his hand and said "We all die John, some in battlefield, some in life's field." Yes, he was right. John was dying, this scene in front of him had hit him like a bullet, he was in battle for long, he was wounded already, this was the final stroke. Through blurred vision he saw Sherlock running towards him and holding him. The last vision he had was Sherlock shaking him with both hands calling his name.

"You didn't tell me you two were in a relationship finally." Asked Irene, looking at Sherlock who was bending over John's limp unconscious body in his arms.

Sherlock looked up shocked. Sherlock knew he was panicking he tried very hard to stay calm. _I should have talked to him after our spat. Please be alright John, this was not intended._

"Well it's about time." Said Irene nonchalantly. Waving a piece of paper in front of Sherlock she said "Nice try, better luck next time." With that she was gone.

Sherlock tried very hard to bring back his mental equilibrium. _John is in shock, he has fainted. He would come around soon._ He told himself and took John up in his arms and took him to the living room. He put him on the sofa and started to bring him about. He wet a kitchen towel and put it on John's forehead pressing lightly. He was hovering over John.

_The look on John's face when he saw us! He looked like he was under fire. What might he have thought? That I was in love with her? Oh john you know me better than that. She was hiding that crucial information about arms dealing. I had to do it. It's not something I was enjoying. If I enjoyed such things it would be with you. This is all because of your stupid feelings, if you were the same John I knew you would have taken the situation lightly, as a part of the job which it was. Now I have to explain to you what I was doing and why. This is ridiculous John. If I ever felt love it would be for you. You make me work John. _

_What am I thinking? Is this the shock speaking?_

He remembered after their last conversation which was more of a confrontation how he couldn't concentrate on the case at hand.

"Missing your flatmate freak?" Donovan had asked. Sherlock ignored. His mind was already messed enough.

"Why didn't he come? Very unlikely of him." Asked Lestrade.

"He's sick." _With emotions._

"About time, living so long with you." Spat Donovan.

Sherlock looked daggers. He remembered how John would already have had said something to that if he was here.

When the job was done, there was no John to say "Brilliant".

Sherlock felt empty and angry. This is what he does best. This is what he has devoted his life to. This is what he understands. John ought to understand this. They were so good together. Why did he have to go ahead and mess things with emotions? He was the only person on earth who understood Sherlock, so why didn't he understand what Sherlock wanted now? If only Sherlock could take that thing called _love_ out of John's dictionary. He didn't feel like returning the next day. He was thinking about how to make John see reason. He spent the whole day walking about London, talking to his homeless network, observing people. That night he found out that John was planning to move out. It was a jolt to Sherlock. _Why would he leave me? Because we fought? That's the most absurd reason! He owes me an explanation._ But he was too angry and egoistic to talk to John himself. So he waited. In the mean time he got the information about Irene. There was no other way to take that paper out of her.

John moved, moaning he opened his eyes. Sherlock took his pulse and checked his heartbeat. John let him do it. As full consciousness came back to John his heart beat rose with his blood pressure and anger and _pain_._ Wasn't it enough Sherlock that I was leaving? I know I don't have the right to feel like this. But I do. And God it kills me._

He couldn't look at Sherlock, he tried weakly to free himself.

"Try to relax." Sherlock commanded frowning.

"I'm sorry I interrupted you." John said not looking at his flatmate, breathing hard. As he tried to get up he realised he was pinned down by Sherlock's weight.

"It's not what you think John." Sherlock said deeply.

"I've stopped thinking about you."

"Is that why you fainted?"

John looked daggers at his flatmate who was still on top of him refusing to let go.

"Let me go."

"No." Sherlock said coldly with finality.

John let out a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. He tried to cool himself. He did come to talk to Sherlock. Now was the chance.

"I am leaving Sherlock."

"Not today."

"I didn't plan it today, but I can't stay here anymore. I'll go to Harry's and move from there this Saturday."

"John" the baritone deep but hesitant, "I'm sorry about the last few days, the confrontations." _There you have it John, now please smile and call me a git and sod this whole stupid idea._

John was taken aback by the apology, firstly because Sherlock never apologised and then because Sherlock thought that an apology could change anything now.

"I can't do this anymore Sherlock. I'm fine now, please let me go."

Sherlock was getting impatient. He wanted to shake John unconscious again. _Why doesn't he see how illogical it would be for him to live somewhere else? He is pushing me to do something I really don't want to do._

"What's the point of it John? What will you do without me?" Sherlock asked without hiding his irritation.

_Try to forget you. _"Move on."

His words had some effect on Sherlock; he loosened his grip on John and sat up a bit. His expression shocked, disbelieving, enquiring. _What? Move on where? With whom? How? If I was not there? You can't just move from me John, you never have. _Sherlock had too many questions without any satisfying answer and the only person who could clearly answer these was going away.

John sat up, feeling very weak. Taking himself out of Sherlock's loosened grasp he stood up. Before walking to the door he turned to his flatmate who sat like a statue in the same position as before as if John was still lying there and asked,

"Did you do this because I'm a man?"

Sherlock looked up with a sad smile, "I thought you knew me better than that John."

Turning away John said, "Yes, I too thought I did." The door closed behind him.

This was not the first time Sherlock was left alone, but this was the first time he felt lonely. After a while he stood up determined.

_Last try._

He went up to John's room. The door was opened, John was packing things swiftly, he wanted to get out, hide, _and forget_.

He had packed many things over the week for his move on the weekend, so he had very little difficulty to pack the rest which was not much. _That will do for two days, on Saturday I'll have to come for the rest. _He zipped the bag which was on the reached for the phone on side table not aware of Sherlock in the room. Two long hands snaked his waist and chest from behind flattening him on a warm lean chest. He was taken aback at first then angry, sad, frustrated all at once. He couldn't hold back the emotions anymore. He broke down crying in those arms. _He's still faking it. _Sherlock put his mouth close to John's ears and whispered "Don't leave, John." But it was too late.

Flashes of the last few days when he was happy flashed through John's mind.

_Sherlock coking for me. A lie._

_Sherlock caring for me. A lie._

_Sherlock holding my hand. A lie._

_"Because I want to. Because I care". A lie._

_Our first kiss. A lie._

_Now was time for some truths._

John pushed Sherlock with all the force he could muster. Sherlock didn't expect it from a weeping John. He staggered back and hit the wall behind him hard, losing his balance he fell. He looked at John with surprised horrified eyes. John stood in front of him, hands fisted, wet eyes fierce, body trembling with anger. John looked like a villain.

_What have I done, _Sherlock thought.

"Your experiment has failed Mr Holmes. Don't you dare try to resume it on my expense." John's voice was menacing.

"Don't leave John" Sherlock couldn't recognise his own voice.

"Enough!" Shouted John.

Telling John to calm down would do no good, Sherlock resolved to stay quiet and let the storm pass.

"You played with my emotions without thinking about the consequences, you faked loving me, you let me believe that you were capable of something as beautiful and as human as love."

Trying to control his breathing John continued.

"You lied continuously, you manipulated me, you exploited my trust in you, you tried to keep me from being loved of which you are totally incapable you bastard!"

Whatever Sherlock had done till now seemed completely logical to him, somehow now when he was given the story from John's point of view, reality hit him. He couldn't take it. He was wincing every time John shouted. Because John was shouting truths. As soon as they were spoken words from John's mouth Sherlock's delusions of reasoning fell apart. He felt guilty.

"You don't deserve me Sherlock. In fact you don't deserve anybody at all, you can't deduce with that great brain of yours why some people choose to be with you when the rest of the world runs away from you."

"John I didn't mean…"

"Shut up!" Sherlock fell silent, there was an unfamiliar feeling growing in his heart and head, it was nauseating, aching.

"I was never adorable to you, I was useful. Now that I've ceased to be so, I'm out."

John took his coat and two bags; he wiped his face with his hands and gave Sherlock a final look of contempt and disgust.

"I curse the day I met you Sherlock Holmes. I curse the day I thought you were human."

Sherlock sat there for how long he didn't know.

Until a man in a long coat and carrying an umbrella came to him and said,

"Get up Sherlock. You've been sitting here for the last 24 hours."


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay, my brain refused to let me sleep for the last two nights and I'm looking like a mad scientist on the verge of a revolutionary discovery. I also have a messy mop of rich brown hair, but not curly. I may need a skull to talk to very soon.

Please be kind enough to review. A review a day keeps the writer's block away.

* * *

"I guess you miss the adrenalin rush." Said harry, fully aware that it was definitely not the cause of her brother's discomfort. It has been a week since John had moved to his new flat; it was good, cosy, not expensive, had a good view and everything else needed in place, just no Sherlock. When John arrived without notice at her doorstep that night Harry just let him in and made arrangements. She never asked a question about it. After their last conversation Harry had changed. She had now cut down on her alcohol consumption, begun seeing Sarah regularly and was being a silent support to her brother. After John moved in the new apartment she regularly visited him. She talked mostly about herself, positive things and the things she thought would cheer her brother up and never mentioned Sherlock. She couldn't say her brother was doing a very good job of getting on with the new situation. _He was certainly not._

Every morning John would make two cups of tea. Only to put back the extra tea or drain it down the kitchen sinks. Sometimes when Harry visited he would put much sugar into her tea thinking it was Sherlock's. His fridge was mostly empty though there was no reason for him to save space. He couldn't watch TV. He would hear violin in the middle of the night which he knew didn't exist. The nightmares were back, including a new one. Sherlock sitting on his arm chair, playing the violin, engrossed, the room is otherwise dark except for the light over Sherlock. Suddenly from nowhere Irene Adler would appear and sit on Sherlock's lap. Sherlock would stop playing and look straight at John and say "Why are you here John? You are useless to me now." And they would start kissing. Most of the nights John would just toss and turn or wake up early in the morning sweating. He would get angry at finding the food always there. There never was a scarcity of milk or eggs. The jam bottle never emptied itself to put fingers in it. The eggs would always be there unless John ate them. Everything stood still, as if something had ended. The life John had known for a year had. There was no communication from Sherlock so far. Mycroft had arranged the things John left that night to be moved to his new apartment, for which John was thankful, he dreaded the idea of facing Sherlock again. He spoke to Mrs Hudson on phone and apologised for leaving without saying goodbye.

"I don't know what went wrong between you two but I do wish it's sorted soon, I can never expect to see you two live apart, it's not meant to be so dear." The good lady said to John.

John was grateful for Harry's support but nothing could replace Sherlock.

"I had an exciting life once" Said John answering Harry. "When I was at the battlefield. It gave me a wounded shoulder and a psychosomatic pain in the leg. " Harry looked at her brother compassionately, "the next exciting life I had, broke my heart." John said looking at his sister "What good did adrenalin rush do me?" John's face contorted in pain. "But they both were a life worth living." Harry couldn't look at her brother. Her brother was a broken man, only time or Sherlock Holmes could make him better again. She felt helpless.

* * *

"Why are you here?" Sherlock asked Mycroft, his voice husky.

"Let's go to the living room shall we?"

"Why are your men here?"

"To move John's things to his new apartment."

"Why wouldn't he come himself?" Sherlock said, hurt in his voice.

Mycroft looked silently at his brother. His men were not inside the building yet but Sherlock sensed it, it was based on observation, logical deductions, but he couldn't deduce why John would not prefer to enter the house again at a time like this. This was Sherlock's problem, which cost him John.

"Please come down stairs, we need to talk."

Sherlock stood up with great difficulty. His back was stiff, limbs were numb, he felt a bit dizzy and he was bewildered and angry. Mycroft extended a hand which he refused furiously.

There was coffee and takeout food on the table in front of the sofa. Mycroft was playing big brother again, Sherlock hated it. He sat on the sofa grouchily, not looking at Mycroft who sat gracefully on the chair in front.

"I'd prefer you had some food, but perhaps you would dine when I'm gone."

"I don't need food."

"Staying hungry won't solve your problems."

"Eating wouldn't either."

"If John was here he would not let you… "

"John isn't here." Snapped Sherlock, a fierce look in his eyes.

"He would have been if you had not played with his emotions." Mycroft said plainly.

"You are the last person on earth with whom I should discuss emotions." Sherlock said with a sarcastic smile.

"Well, I'm the only person on earth with whom you can discuss anything at all, considering that John too has left you."

Sherlock wanted to spat something back, stop that smart mouth of his brother but he couldn't. Mycroft was right. With John gone, Mycroft was the only person Sherlock could talk to.

"I have the skull." He said sulkily.

"Right, which would make tea every morning, watch out for you, take care of you, help you, comfort you, fight for you and etc. etc."

"It would not leave me." the baritone said trying desperately to hold on to something.

"It wouldn't love you either, brother."

"And the skull would never ask for it."

"Of course, because it doesn't care if you love it or not, because it's dead. If it were something alive like John Watson it would also have left you long before."

"I don't have such feelings."

"So you fake it"

"I didn't know it would hurt John like that. The idea seemed logical."

"That's the problem with emotions; they are quite the contrary to logic."

"That's why I don't like them."

"You just don't understand them."

"Well one thing I know about emotions is that you can't make someone feel them for someone by force!" Sherlock raised his voice.

"I'm not forcing you to feel anything for John; I'm asking you to acknowledge it."

"What!"

"You love John Sherlock, I just want to make you understand that."


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you! make me keep writing!

* * *

"What?!" Sherlock looked lost.

"What I'm saying is nothing beyond your understanding."

"What game is this Mycroft?"

"When did I become the one to play games?" Mycroft made an innocent face.

Rage surged inside Sherlock, he wanted to kill his brother but in that moment of anger words spoken by John came back to him, words exactly like what his brother said now, "_Exploiting others' emotions for personal profit is a game you excel in Sherlock, not me."_ He had done something wrong, must have.

As he sobered down Mycroft said, "But you seem to like games, so let's play a game. I'll ask you five questions, you'll answer them."

Sherlock stayed quiet, hands on his face.

"Okay, I'll take silence for an answer only this once."

"Why were you sitting there for so long even after you realised that John was not coming back?" Mycroft begun.

Silence. Mycroft smiled.

"John had changed himself, he was not being as useful to you as he had been, so why did you try to stop him from leaving? He was useless now."

Silence again.

"Would you allow John to get involved with someone even if he didn't leave this house? If no, then why?"

Images of John played in front of Sherlock's eyes. John cooking, John smiling, John sleeping on the arm chair, John pushing him away from danger, John kissing him back. _John._

"How did you feel when John kissed you?"

Sherlock looked up, his eyes menacing, _you are going too far Mycroft._

"How would you feel if John's life was in danger?"

The earth stopped in its axis, everything went still. Sherlock felt a familiar fear. He felt it once John had been in a blast, he was hurt but not much, seeing him hospital Sherlock felt like a child lost in a big city. But for a few moments. He had discarded the feeling later as if it never existed. But now, sitting in front of Mycroft, his subconscious being slowly revealed he recognized the feeling in a new light. _It was fear of losing John. Irrespective of whether he would be useful anymore or not. I needed John alive. I need John alive._

He looked up at his brother, face contorted. He asked in a broken voice "Tell me… he's not in danger."

Mycroft looked at his brother sympathetically, _I know it's going to be hard for you, but it is necessary pain. _"He won't come in harm's way." He said putting a hand on Sherlock's limp hand, a gesture that suited neither of the brothers. "I promise." He wanted to leave Sherlock to his thoughts, so after a while he got up. Before leaving he put a gentle hand on Sherlock's Shoulder and whispered "please eat."

* * *

"He hasn't come out since you left, I'm a bit worried dear." Mrs Hudson sounded like that too.

It was a Sunday. The 2nd Sunday alone after a year with his flatmate. John sighed. The first had gone almost unnoticed as he was busy setting things up. But this was _awful._ No case, no helping around, no mood for socialising, _No Sherlock!_ Just a damn empty feeling. Frustrating, useless, _boring._ John opened his eyes wide as his own thought sounded like the baritone he left a week ago. And now his ex-landlady was requesting him to come over for his ex-flatmate for whom she was concerned. _She would_ _have never asked me if she knew what he did_ John thought. But she didn't. She was always caring about them and this was just natural for her to do.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes Mrs Hudson" he said after a pause "I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks dear."

John fiddled with the phone in his hand. The things that happened between them in the last few days couldn't be easily forgotten. John suspected if he could at all forget them in this life. He was not bound to do anything for his ex-flatmate now. Yet he felt a compulsion, an urge. _I was his friend, his doctor once for Christ's sake and I know how stubborn he is, I am among the few people he actually listens to or at least did. I can't just sit here when there is a possibility that something maybe has gone wrong. What he did was bad, I can't tic him by being bad in return, I have to be mature._ John made up his mind. Somewhere at the back of his mind a voice said _You just want to see him, even after not a single text from him in all these days. _He suppressed the voice by thinking it was just a little excitement in his new mundane life. Yes that's what it is. If Sherlock could be selfish so could _he_.

Standing in front of his former home John realised it was not as easy as he thought it would be. He tried to see through the heavy curtains straining his eyes into which used to be _their_ living room. He had expected to see a long lean figure lurking around in the shadows. But he saw nothing. He felt his heartbeat rise at the thought of what it would be like to face Sherlock again, to hear his name from that mouth, in that baritone. _This is not the time to be nervous. You're here for a reason. _John pulled himself together; he strode across the street to the gate and let himself in. Mrs Hudson was out. No sound from that quarter. He hesitated before climbing the stairs. _It would be so awkward. I hardly know what to say to him._ He laughed at his own thought. His former friend and flatmate and partner and _love _with whom he had spent a year 24/7, a year which felt more like a decade, in which they had been through life threatening situations, now standing at the steps so well known to him he didn't know what to say to that person. _Maybe he was right after all, it was so easy before my stupid feelings. _With a deep breath John found the determination to climb the stairs. As he stood in front of the door, hands on the door knob hesitation took over him again. _Why do I still feel responsible for this man? Even after what he did? Did he deserve any of this from me anymore? _ Maybe he didn't, but then who else was there to do this? With the afterthought John let himself in.

The familiar smell of the room filled John's lungs, he felt completely at ease at once, like he never left, like whatever was his life before entering this room was just a dream. After a long time John felt at _home._

He didn't realise that a small smile had crawled up on his lips as he was looking around the familiar surroundings. The kitchen, the dining table, the book racks, the sofa, Sherlock.

_Sherlock._

John's breath hitched and his gaze faltered as he realised Sherlock was standing in front of him. Quite away from him, near the sofa, he didn't even notice he had come. Whatever stability and comfort the familiar surroundings had given him was sucked out the instant he met the cold, tired gaze of a very haggard looking Sherlock. _This was going to be difficult. _John straightened his back and took a steadying breath and took a good look at the man in front of him. _Hasn't slept, hasn't eaten. _The doctor in him made mental calculations.

"New case?" John asked nonchalantly, as if it hardly mattered.

Sherlock flinched before saying "Hello, John."

That voice, that mouth, that name filled all of John's senses_. How long had it been? A week? No, it must have been longer. _John swallowed and bit the inside of his lower lip. He tried to bite back the emotion which made him feel like he was a distraught child being soothed. He felt like hugging Sherlock, telling him how terribly he missed him, to lay down his feelings just to be with him again. _No! now is not the time for this nor is this person deserving of it. Oh who am I fooling? I was the one who never deserved him._

"How are you?" Sherlock's mild voice broke John's reverie.

"Why haven't you been out?" John's voice stern, he didn't mean it to be so, it just came out that way, too much confused feelings.

"I told Mrs Hudson that I was alive and well and not to bother."

_Alive yes. Well, no. _John was deducing.

"Sit, let me check you." John went ahead to the sofa and sat. Sherlock was still standing, a dazed expression on his face as if surprised by John's actions.

_What does he want now? _"Why don't you sit?"

As if on Que Sherlock sat on the sofa facing his former flatmate. Expression still dazed.

For a moment John kept looking at him, then abruptly he looked down.

Without further delay Sherlock rolled up his shirt sleeve and presented his hand to the doctor, looking at the hand.

With immense control John took the hand to check the pulse. It was slow. With a disturbed expression John looked at his patient's Shirt sleeve, this was the worst clothes he had ever seen Sherlock in. The shirt was crumpled, not fresh and definitely not laundered. Unconsciously his gaze followed up, Sherlock's throat was dry, unshaven at least for two days, his skin looked worn, darkness under the eyes. What happened to the Sherlock he left a week ago? Sherlock was still looking at his hand which he withdrew gently. John had forgotten that he was holding it. He felt a bit awkward. Focusing on Sherlock again he asked:

"when did you last eat?"

"A while ago." _Come back John_.

"Please specify."

"Maybe yesterday."_ I am sorry._

"When?"

"Uh, actually a night before last night, maybe." _I'm a monster._

"When did you last sleep?" John's voice clearly annoyed.

Sherlock didn't answer, he looked at John with all the bewilderment of a child at a question beyond his understanding.

John sighed exasperated "You're not a child Sherlock! Stop behaving like one!" Sherlock turned his gaze to the floor, the age old carpet seemed very interesting to him.

"What is this? Is this some practical joke? Any childish attempt to get me back in the house?_ Oh how you cannot take any care of yourself when I'm not around act_?" John almost yelled.

Sherlock's expression changed to a pained one. Just for a few seconds, then the mask was on again. A face that gave away nothing. John was really angry now, he just couldn't take the silence.

"Please tell me this was not a plan." He said abruptly standing up from the sofa.

Sherlock just gave a sad sarcastic smile.

"God damn it Sherlock! You are not my responsibility anymore!" John screamed with frustration, he felt he said this more to himself than the man in front of him.

Sherlock sat still, never loosing is composure, never giving away anything. He looked at the back of the sofa for a moment and said:

"I know I'm not your responsibility. Still thanks for coming down to check on me just on a call."

Never looking at a stunned John he got up and tiredly returned to his bedroom. The sound of the door closing bought John back to his senses. _Since when did Sherlock become so gentle on doors? Did he actually mock me because I came here to see him? I shouldn't have. Was this planned? I'll have to ask our landlady to confirm. She surely won't lie. _But what of now? _I can't just leave him in this state. He's weak. A bit not good. A pretty mess. Come to save him after what he'd done, be mocked at and still help because he's weak and it's unscrupulous to leave him like this. Just great! _

He was pretty sure there won't be any food in the kitchen and he found it to be true. So he went out to buy some supplies, after all he won't be around to nurse him after today. No he won't. As soon as he set foot on the road his phone chimed, a text.

_You don't have to do this. M.H._

_Yeah right, surveillance. _He forgot.

_Then please come down from your high chair and do it yourself. J._

_He doesn't deserve it from you John. After what he has done. M.H._

_Thanks for the concern but it's your brother who needs it more now than me. J._

_Oh, he will come around. He won't die. M.H._

John felt very uncomfortable at the words. _How could he be so insensitive towards Sherlock? He won't die? Is that the only condition? How can he be so cold? _

He started walking without answering. He still couldn't be cold to Sherlock. And he could never think of his dying. No he won't even entertain the thought.


	14. Chapter 14

This chapter is very close to my heart. Please review. Thank you for your support.

* * *

_"New case?"_

John's words from the morning replayed in his mind caused Sherlock pain again. He was on his unkempt bed, lying in a foetal position facing the wall.

_Is that the only reason you could think of that I look like this John? Couldn't it be that I missed you? I wanted you to be back so badly that I couldn't concentrate on anything else? Couldn't it be that I realised something? Don't I feel anything else than… oh yes of course, I've always told you so. I made myself a monster in your eyes, who am I to complain about your perception? _

_"When did you last sleep?"_

_I can't sleep John. I can't sleep because I'll have to wake up to your absence. It'll all come back to me in a flash. I may as well scream for tea forgetting everything. It's better that I don't open my eyes to this emptiness. It's better that I don't close them to be opened to oblivion and pain. You know why I haven't taken any drugs John? Because I'll hallucinate you. It'll pain me more instead._

_Why haven't you moved on John? You told me you would? Is one week a very short time to move on? It seems so long to me. Why haven't I been out? Where would I go? You make me work John, without you I don't. nothing does. My experiments fail, I just stand at a crime scene and fail to think rapidly. I've embarrassed myself twice this week like that. So I just don't go. Solve on the phone if I can. I don't go out for food, when did I do that if not with you. I don't have any other friend. I have no one except for you. I saw that look on your face today, when your emotions were giving away for a moment. Why didn't you let them John? I promise I wouldn't have let you down. No! the question is why you still had them for me, I don't deserve them anymore._

_You won't listen to me, would you John? Listen to my blabbering? I want to tell you so many things. The first thing I want to tell you that I don't deserve you. I don't deserve you coming down to visit me, I don't deserve you still worrying about me. I don't deserve your touch anymore, I've violated and misused it so much. I deserve your anger John, I deserve your hatred. I deserve to see you with someone else, happy, someone who really deserves you. No John, those women who loved you were not incorrigible, they knew what they had. Very unlike me, they knew how special you were. I came between you and your relationships so many times, if it was not for me you surely would have moved on by now. You didn't notice how I came in between neither did I. How you were always occupied on a case or had to cancel a dinner date because I needed you. Just to prevent me from taking drugs you would stay behind. People left you for me. But you never left me, until I made you. You were always occupied with me and you never complained. I took it for granted, I took you for granted John. I had the audacity to think that I gave you a life worth living when it was you who gave up everything he could have had, everything you deserved for a monster like me and made my life worth living. I want to tell you John that I was just walking and seeing life before you came, I started observing, craving, living life after you came, you appreciated, you cared…you loved._

_I want to tell you John that I'm a liar._

_I want to tell you that I had false pride._

_I want to tell you how right you were._

_I want to tell you that I realise now what you are to me._

_I want to tell you that I lo…_

John's footsteps on the stairs broke into Sherlock's monologue. He was startled. He felt John going into the kitchen, putting things on the counter. Trying very hard to make some space on the kitchen table, dropping a few things in the process. Clearing the sink, trying to find equipment for making tea. Putting things in the fridge, swearing at the things he finds inside. Just like he did before leaving.

_He's back! Why is he back? Has he pitied me? my condition? Has he changed his mind?_

With a mind riddled with questions Sherlock got up and went to the kitchen. He was greeted with the warm familiar sight of John making tea.

Sensing Sherlock John turned and met his gaze.

"Hi, I came back…" _Because I couldn't leave you like this. _"Because I thought you could use something uh…other than nicotine patches."

_Doesn't your generosity have any limits John? _ Sherlock tried very hard to say something, to express his gratitude, to ask for forgiveness, to say that it was too good for him but all he could manage was some incoherent words.

"I…John…this…help…not…I…"

John sighed. "Look, why don't you take a bath, clean-up a bit while I arrange some food." It was becoming increasingly necessary to get Sherlock out of the room. John needed space. Everything going on was taking a toll. He wanted to manage things and get back as early as possible. Every cell in his body was screaming _get out!_ But he couldn't, because he thought he shouldn't. Isn't this the man he claimed he loved? His love was not retuned, but that didn't mean he should be able to kill the feeling for this man. Nobody could. Nobody human enough could. Because once you love this man, this enigma, this angel, this almost celestial being called Sherlock Holmes you just keep falling deeper and deeper. There was no way out.

Sherlock was being very obedient and very silent. By the time John left he had resorted some of the man he had left behind a week ago.

"Don't empty the fridge again. Remember your supplies." With those hurried words John ran down the stairs. He heard a faint "Bye, John."

Just outside he bumped into their landlady.

"Oh! How good of you to come down! How is he now? I bet very happy." Said she glowing.

"Yeah, is…okay." John was at a loss of words.

"John? He is _very_ unhappy without you." Mrs Hudson's face was filled with concern.

John smiled at her, _you don't know Mrs Hudson, you don't know your favourite boy._

He gave her a small warm hug and turned to leave. He had taken only a few steps when he heard Mrs Hudson calling him. He turned to look.

"This was not planned you know."

_Oh great now she was reading him too._ With an exasperated sigh John turned and started walking again.

He tried to get his mind off things. He took a deep breath and let the cold air cleanse his system. He took in every single minute details of the daily life on the road. Shops, people, cars, the buzz, the smell, the mannequins wearing bright cloths on the window displays.

John halted as realisation hit him. A person almost stumbled on him in the process.

"Sorry…sorry I…"

_The shirt that Sherlock was wearing…_

"It doesn't fit me."

"Why did you buy it?"

"It seemed it would."

"God! John, you still haven't lost any of that weight you came here with? After all this running around!"

"Can you just please…Oh sod this. Your highness wouldn't wear cloths discarded by me anyway. I'm just wasting…"

"Put it in my closet."

"Sorry? What?"

"You heard me."

"Are you actually…"

"I can use it as a costume someday!"

"Oh you bloody arrogant self-obsessed idiot!"

_It was that shirt! My shirt!_

John stood there looking back at the way he came down.


	15. Chapter 15

Thank you so much! I love writing for you! keep those responses coming!

* * *

"So, did you both talk about how you were doing?" Asked Sarah. It had been another week since John had moved out. It was Saturday. Harry was out of town and John still couldn't make himself to go out for a drink with someone. Sarah called herself and now they were sitting in her living room with coffee. John was denying himself alcohol for reasons he didn't know. Maybe he feared that in this state of mind if he started he won't be able to stop. He had to stop himself from becoming Harry, who was doing fine by now and another person for whom he worried constantly now. Sherlock Holmes. He had too much responsibility, he just couldn't do something irresponsible like that even if he wanted to.

"Yeah we talked…we did…we…" John started speaking only to break into an outburst of emotions.

"Jesus! Sarah! We both know that Sherlock and I are not normal people, I didn't move out under normal circumstances, our relationship was always complex and now this situation is beyond my grasp. You can't just imagine us blabbering about what we're doing without each other and brush each other's hair! Of course we didn't talk about anything like that! We didn't mostly talk at all!"

Sarah was a bit startled at first. She sees people having outbursts almost every day. That's her job, she handles them, most of the time She helps them to have such outbursts. But John Watson was one of the most patience and controlled man she knew. It took her by surprise at first, then she was okay.

"Oh god…I'm so sorry Sarah." John said covering his face with his hands.

Sarah got up and went behind John. She put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly.

"It's completely alright John. I'm glad it happened in front of me." She said softly.

John nodded regaining his composure and moved his hands of his face. Sarah bent a little and gave a understanding smile. John smiled back.

Across the road peering into the window behind which Sarah and John were visible stood Sherlock. _John has moved on._

Sherlock took out his phone and texted.

_I want to be out of London. Immediately. S.H._

"John, You said this situation is beyond your grasp. What did you mean?" Asked Sarah.

"Sarah…for the last two weeks I've been thinking. I'm confused whether moving away from Sherlock was a good, well timed decision or not."

"After what he said and did?"

"Yes. I know how it sounds. Trust me it didn't make sense to me at first either. But since my last visit to Sherlock I'm …uh…what can I say…having second thoughts."

"Tell me all about your last visit. Don't leave anything out."

John did.

"So this is what is bothering you. You think he's like that because of you."

"Yes. That seems to be the only logical conclusion." John said looking at his hands, a bit apologetic.

"This is Sherlock Holmes we're talking about." Said Sarah with a questioning look.

"That is exactly where my problem lies. I don't know for sure."

"Then you'll have to make sure first." Said Sarah with a smile.

"How?"

"Try talking to him first."

* * *

"Why do you always need everything right now?!" Asked Mycroft angrily.

"Because I'm sure you need me on some job." Sherlock replied coldly.

"What if I say I don't?"

"Oh please." Said Sherlock sarcastically.

"It's about John. Isn't it?"

Sherlock was sitting on his chair. Eyes fixed on the fire. Violin in hands.

"No. it's about me."

After a few moments Mycroft's footsteps left the room and violin music filled its all corners.

Sherlock had been following John around since his last visit. He wanted to see how John was doing without him. John looked sad, confused and there were times when Sherlock wanted to show himself and try to sort things out. But he couldn't. He had seen him with Harry, a few people from the workplace and frequently with Sarah. Sarah was single, she liked John, John liked women, and she was helping John. _The rest of the things will take care of themselves. I just need to go out of the way. As I fade in John's memory he will be able to find peace, find life as it should be. Keep moving on…keep moving away John. You deserve the best of everything. The best of life._ Sherlock again had that nauseating feeling, that feeling that made his throat and forehead ache and made his chest heavy. He still didn't know what it was. But he knew for who it was.

* * *

John was walking back from Sarah's house. There had been a lot less exercise since he left his former flatmate. He was feeling old and rusty already. Walking helped him think also and right now he really needed to. Arms around himself as John started walking he tried sorting the things on his mind.

_If I go back to Sherlock now, everything will look so trivial. My emotions, my hurt, the whole situation. Sherlock will never take me seriously again. No I need to sort things out before I think of going back. But I can't sort things out on my own. I'll have to talk to Sherlock. I know how hard it's going to be but I don't have any other choice. Would he talk to me? well, if what I saw was for me then…but Sherlock never talks about emotions. The first and last time we did talk about it was a complete and utter disaster. No. I'm not going back there. Then how? How? _

_Think Doc think._

Then suddenly out of nowhere he was reminded of Sherlock's arms around him when they were kissing. _That git. He didn't even think of hugging. Went straight to kissing a person he had never touched except for handshakes and shoving here and there out of danger. That was your mistake Mr knows it all._

But the peace he had felt in his embrace was nowhere else to be found. Here in this extremely agitated state of mind John needed that embrace, that feeling, that peace from that man only who was the reason for his present unrest. The song "_In the arms of the angel_" played in his mind. Sherlock was his angle. Will always be.

_I can't solve this alone Sherlock. I need you. _

_"Make you own deductions John, like I would have." _The baritone spoke in his mind.

_Why were you wearing that shirt?_

_"Why John?"_

_I don't know. You had been wearing it for some time, you never do that._

_"No John."_

_Is it because you missed me?_

_"Is it John?"_

_No, this is just wishful thinking._

_"What else have you noticed John?"_

_You didn't communicate. Even now you don't._

_"Why John?"_

_I don't know. But if you were still playing games and trying to trick me being back with you, you would most definitely communicate. You would text, call and even come over. But you were rather silent since I left. Why Sherlock?_

_"Why John?"_

_You didn't even say something when I went to meet you. Why are you so silent? You were so expressive both verbally and non-verbally before I left the house. You did all sorts of things to get my attention, your silence now is incomprehensible. What has changed? Have you given up? Have you realised?_

_"Have I?"_

_If you had given up then why were you wearing that shirt? Why don't you go out? Why don't you take cases? What has happened to you Sherlock?_

John stopped walking realizing he was standing in front of his flat. Resolving to go and talk to Sherlock face to face he entered his building. He stood startled for a moment when he found the door to his flat unlocked. He was not carrying his gun, he was at a disadvantage yet his heart glowed at the possibility of danger. He prepared himself, stealthily he opened the door expecting someone to jump on him. He was ready, a fist clenched, then he heard a familiar voice.

"Good evening John, a nice cup of tea will be very good."

_Mycroft._

The adrenalin flow that had increased for a moment at the prospect of danger decreased considerably. Instead it gave way to a very uneasy thought.

"Mycroft! Everything okay with Sherlock?" John said, concern in his voice.

Mycroft sighed, looking sympathetically at the good doctor. _How lucky you are Sherlock and what a fool._

"Oh! He's fine. Just came over for a chat. Hope you don't mind?" He gave John a questioning look.

_Mycroft Holmes came here just for a chat? Sounds fishy._ With a sense of foreboding John said, "I don't mind, make yourself comfortable, I'll get some tea."

Mycroft gave him a very business-like smile and sat.

John went to the kitchen and started to make tea. Once you are associated with the Holmes brothers you can't walk out on them totally. You'll keep bumping into one or another. _Yeah, that comes with the package._ There were advantages of living without Sherlock, no doubt about that. There were biscuits always. Otherwise Sherlock would always eat the biscuits whenever he felt like and never would bother to refill the stock. John couldn't say anything to this. Sherlock after all indulged in food rarely and it would be very rude to interrupt this little snack. Then there was Mrs Hudson, always ready to help. John smiled at the fond memories as he poured tea into the cups. _Why is Mycroft here? Does he want to talk me back to Baker Street? Why now? He was being quite supportive of this before, what now? Is it Sherlock?_

He sat facing Mycroft and handed him the tea, who thanked him and concentrated on the tea for a moment. Then he spoke casually, like he's just chatting about the weather.

"Sherlock was a shy child. Difficult, different, destructive."

John sighed,_ tell me something I don't know about him._

"He was also very quiet and adorable." Mycroft continued with a bit of affection.

John felt uncomfortable for some reason.

"An introvert. Mum loved him most for these qualities". He cleared his voice uncomfortably and said "and some others still do."

John dropped his gaze to the cup in his hand. He had understood.

"The problem is, he is still very much like that." Mycroft said contemplating.

"He never shows what he really is. A person who wants to know has to seek fine signs, has to go great lengths to find out. I'm sure you've noticed John, he is very good with camouflaging. But have you noticed when he does it most? When his feelings are real. He sees through people, he knows what they want. He can impress and captivate them by that knowledge. He can make people like him, but he doesn't. "

John was gazing fixedly at Mycroft. Listening intently.

"He is very _showy_ only when the emotions are not real."

John's eyes widened, realisation slowly dawning.

"Anyway" Mycroft said putting the cup away "he is going to South Africa for some time."

_On your job. _Thought John.

"When?" John's voice shaky.

"This week."

"Probably no guarantee when he would return?" John asked frowning, looking away.

"Probably no guarantee that he would return _at all_." Mycroft said slowly with emphasis.

John blinked and swallowed and looked at Mycroft.

"Why are you sending him?"

"He asked me to." Mycroft's eyes were piercing John. _Please understand John._

"Why?"

"He doesn't want to return."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Sherlock Holmes is the greatest mystery of all. Solve it John. Thanks for the tea." With that Mycroft was gone.

John remained silent. Too dazed to speak. Too many thoughts crossing his mind, everything incomprehensible.

John stared at the cups on the table. None of them had taken a sip. He hadn't come for a chat after all.


	16. Chapter 16

Thank you so much for your response 3 I am overwhelmed and grateful.

* * *

Sherlock thought of leaving John a note. _He will keep it with him always and never let me out of his mind._

He thought of leaving him a mail. _He'll do the same with it._

He thought about calling him for one last time. _I'll get tongue tied. I don't know what to say to him._

He thought about meeting him for the last time. _God I won't be able to look into those eyes and say that I'm going away forever._

He decided to leave without any communication. He thought it would be less painful for both of them.

"Have you told John that you are leaving?" Mycroft asked over the phone.

"No, and I would prefer that you won't tell him either." Sherlock replied curtly.

"He will find out. It will break his heart. _Yet again._" Mycroft's voice soft and teasing.

Sherlock took a deep breath before replying, "I'm making way for it to be mended." His voice melancholy.

Mycroft sighed. His brother was going the wrong way again. But all he could do was to wait for John to take some steps. He felt frustrated.

Sherlock refrained from telling Mrs Hudson. She would most definitely tell John. It's best to tell her by a note. It will save him from the hugs and tears as well.

John was facing difficulties of his own.

_I want to, need to, have to stop Sherlock. _

_Why? Most importantly how? If I confront him he will definitely avoid it. Why this sudden decision? What triggered it? It has been two weeks since I left. What then? Why? _

_"He is very showy when the emotions are not real." _

_That is true, you were showy, you did things out of character when you pretended to love me. you never struck me as a person who would ever show love like that, with flirting and all that. That gave you away. So what are you like when your feelings are real?_

_"He is very good with camouflaging. But have you noticed when he does it most? When his feelings are real"_

John's heart skipped a bit as a small realization struck him. _Is that why you are silent Sherlock? Because you are not showy when you really feel? Is this your camouflage? I've seen you doing this before, showing that you are nonchalant about something when you really aren't. Is this the same thing? How would I know for sure? Oh Sherlock why won't you talk? Mycroft is not a person to play Sherlock's games. This is not part of a plan. He is really going. "destructive." this time maybe self-destructive. He must be going into great danger, pushing his limit. Mycroft doesn't want him to go. He couldn't stop him. So he wants me to. Why Sherlock? Why do you keep throwing these riddles at me? you know I'm not you. I can't solve them. It's what you do best. God wasn't I confused enough that you had to go ahead and do this? Okay, I need to visit him. I won't take it emotionally. I'll most definitely not ask him questions about me or his feelings. I need to focus, find out what triggered this. That will lead me to other answers eventually. No games this time Holmes. Not anymore. _

John resolved to go and meet Sherlock the very next evening. But fate had other plans.

* * *

Sherlock was staying out mostly. He needed to do things before leaving. He had to set up a discreet fund to provide for his homeless network. Entrust some of them to look after John and Mrs Hudson. He had to meet Lestrade.

"John knows?" Lestrade asked looking down at his coffee, looking sad and frustrated.

"Obviously." Sherlock lied, he didn't want Lestrade to talk to John about this.

"What happened between you two?"

"_Nothing._"

"Look, if you don't want to tell me it's fine. Don't have to lie. He is staying away from Baker Street for more than two weeks now, doesn't appear at crime scenes with you not that you do these days either, there must be something wrong!"

Sherlock avoided looking at him.

"It'll be difficult without you." Lestrade said with a sigh.

"You'll do just fine." Sherlock said with a kind smile._ If John can move on so can the yard._

John was having a very, _very _restless day. He couldn't concentrate, he thanked god for there was no crucial surgery that day. He kept thinking about how he will make Sherlock talk.

_Sherlock we need to talk. Nope, won't work_

_Sherlock I've heard you are going away. No._

_Why are you going away? Oh! Sounds pathetic, pleading._

_Why this sudden decision? Oh why would he tell me?_

John was getting increasingly frustrated with his thought process. As the time came close he settled on something he thought was less pleading, less aggressive and slightly nonchalant.

_I don't have any right to ask you this, but I need to know the reason behind your recent decision._

John kept repeating it in his mind as he took a cab to his former address.

Sherlock had other reasons to stay out also. He dreaded facing Mrs Hudson and he feared deeply that John might get the news and turn up for a confrontation. He rather walked about London, taking in the views, air, smell, details for maybe the last time. As evening approached he mentally groaned as he set foot on his well-known path to home.

Just a block away from home Sherlock's feet slowed down. He walked slowly, hands in coat pocket eyes taking in every minute details of this well-known path, most importantly the view of the house which was his home for so long. He didn't know when he will be able to visit again. A home which gave him John Watson. A very mother like Mrs Hudson. A home where he had spent the most incredible time of his life. A home which could have housed a new beginning and a lifetime of happiness if he hadn't broken John's heart. Sherlock's mind filled with visions of what could have been. He could wake up with John in his arms, he would coax Sherlock to eat every day of his life, he would be with him for the rest of the life, John would sooth him, John would cure him, John would make him a better man. John would give him a family. A home for a lifetime.

These warm visions were suddenly interrupted by a striking yellow jacket. Before Sherlock knew him a young man in his 20's was standing before him, a knife in his hand. He had gotten out of the dark alley Sherlock was passing then. Sherlock was startled a bit then his mind began deducing.

_21, orphan, homeless, hasn't eaten for a day or two, hasn't robbed before, nervous, giddy, extremely vulnerable, dangerous like a cornered animal, may strike out of fear, hasn't been in custody till date, but not first crime, have to divert his attention first. Have to put hand in coat pocket as if taking out wallet, never break eye contact, his eyes will follow my hand, using that distraction grab and twist wrist holding knife, make knife fall, a blow behind the ear and he'll be out for some time, convenient for the police to arrive._

Merely half of a second passed in this thought process.

"T-take out what you have." Said the assailant, voice hesitant. "Now!" he demanded.

"Okay, okay." Sherlock said calmly, hands up in the air, eyes fixed on the man in front. One hand slowly reaching the breast pocket of the long coat. Sherlock's attention wavered suddenly. A cab stopped before 221B and from that came out John. He was paying the cabbie. Sherlock got caught in the view for a bit too long, in a situation where his attention was the only thing standing between him and getting stabbed. It was a matter of a few seconds. But Sherlock's deductions were right, the robber was a first timer and he was scared. He struck out of fear. Before he knew it the knife was in the right side of his lower abdomen. Sherlock was so shocked that he couldn't even scream. His eyes widened and he bent forward with pain. He gasped for air. The robber looked at him horrified, as if not believing what he had done and ran. Sherlock slowly dragged himself backwards until his back touched the alley wall. Then he slid down the wall and slumped on the ground. Still gasping he tried to pull himself together. Pressing his lips together he tried to yank the knife out. With immense willpower and strength he successfully pulled it out with a muffled scream through gritted teeth, he flung the knife to the ground which made a metallic sound. He had to blink several times and take several deep breaths to bring back his mental equilibrium. The pain was immense, piercing and it was not long before he felt both his jacket and long coat getting drenched in blood.

_Okay, lower abdomen stab. What are my chances? Excessive blood loss due to punctured large blood vessels, it could have nicked any vital organs, but right now the blood flow is fatal. Have to stop that._

With immense effort and a loud moan he took off his scarf and pressed it on the wound.

"Jesus."He moaned again.

_Now to call. _He fumbled to take out the phone from his pocket and finally took it out. He called John.

By the time the cab had reached 221B John had remembered the question for the hundredth time. It seemed like the moment he saw Sherlock he will say those exact words without thinking. He didn't want to allow himself to think standing in front of that person. He knew he'll slip if he did that. He couldn't slip today. Not today. Mrs Hudson was not home.

_Did he tell her? Or did he avoid her too? It would have been easier if she was here, she's quite a persuasive woman and among the few that git listens to._

As he climbed up the stairs some of his resolution gave way to worry. _God please give me strength. _As he stepped in he found Sherlock was out.

_Great! Just great. I don't expect myself to hold on to this resolution for god knows how long until he comes back. Come on Sherlock, be home. I need to talk to you._

At that very moment John got a call. He received it without thinking.

"Sherlock where are you?" urgency in John's voice.

"John…the alley…" Sherlock gasped, tried very hard not to sound injured.

John felt as if the room was spinning for a moment. Then without another word he ran. The stairs creaked as if a thunder storm passed on them, the door frame shook with the slamming. John ran, as if his life depended on it, Sherlock's did. In a matter of few moments he reached Sherlock, sliding down on his knees beside him. The first thing he did was checking Sherlock's wound. He moved Sherlock's bloody hand from his waist and them removed a very soaked scarf and discovered the hollow. Sherlock hadn't called the emergency. He just needed John by his side. This was by far the most impractical and emotional thing he did in his life, he thought. But he didn't regret it. If this was his end then he was glad it was in his beloved's arms.

"Oh my god!" John shut his eyes for a moment looking at the wound. Then he held Sherlock with both his hands, placed the scarf back and called ambulance. Then he took Sherlock completely in his arms, rested his head on his own chest. By the time Sherlock was lying in a pool of blood.

John held his chin and turned his face towards him.

"Hey, hey Sherlock? Look at me? stay with me. please? Look… the ambulance will be here anytime now. Please look at me."

By the time Sherlock had lost all the vitality with the blood. He wanted John to be there and he was there. He was in his arms. He didn't care for the rest. The rest of the world could just dissolve into oblivion. He tried very hard to keep his eyes open, to keep looking up at John, to pull a heavy and blood drenched hand to stroke John's face. But he couldn't, he just couldn't. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult, the world was spinning, the sharp pain on the right side flaring up. All he wanted was to drift into a deep sleep that was slowly trying to engulf him. It was just because John's words that he was trying to stay up. He couldn't let John down. Never.

"Everything will be okay Sherlock! Do you hear me? Everything will be okay!" John was screaming now. Panic making his stomach turn, he could hardly think of anything except _I shouldn't have left him._ Again and again and again.

Sherlock faintly heard the ambulance, faintly felt being lifted, faintly heard John scream "IV NOW!" and "I'm a doctor!" before everything went dark.

One last time when he got his sense back for a few moments before going completely blank again he saw a bright light and people with masks on. _Doctors. _He could recognize no one at first. Then he saw two familiar bright brown anxious eyes looking down on him. _John. _They kept their eyes locked for a moment. The last thoughts on their minds were

_Don't save me John. I don't deserve it._

_Don't leave me Sherlock. I don't deserve it._


	17. Chapter 17

**More reviews if you really like this story! please please please!**

* * *

"Doctor, it's time." The nurse's hushed voice brought John back to reality, back to the operation theatre, back to Sherlock. Sherlock's eyes had closed by then again, this time due to the drug that had been administered. John took a deep steadying breath, tried very hard to be the doctor that he is and not the man madly in love with Sherlock, tremendously worried at the moment and on the verge of breaking down crying.

_This is my fault. I have to make it right now. I will make it right. Be with me Sherlock. I'll make it alright._

An hour or so later John was sitting in the locker room, still hadn't changed, one hand fisted to his mouth, elbow resting on the knee, another hand holding tightly the bench he sat on. Deep in thought. No vital organs were nicked but the blood loss was fatal. Sherlock was in intensive care. The next few hours were crucial. The vision of Sherlock lying prone on the hospital bed, multiple cords attached to him. He couldn't remember seeing Sherlock so very limp. Sherlock was made of energy and it was infectious. It now looked like his limpness was also, at least John felt so. He didn't feel like moving, looking, breathing even. He just wanted to lie beside Sherlock and see the mild heaving of his chest as he breathed, take in any, if any movement that limp body made. A twitch of hand, moving of eyeball a hitched breath, anything. The very feel of Sherlock being okay, warm and alive would be enough to sustain living for John right now.

"He'll be okay." He said without looking up as he heard light footsteps behind him. It was Mycroft, he knew. He shouldn't be in here, but then he could be anywhere he wanted to.

"I'm sure he will be. He's in the best possible hands." Mycroft said softly.

John didn't reply.

"John, keeping the nature of my brother in mind I'm sure that as soon as he gets to his senses he would want to go back to 221B Baker Street."

John maintained his silence, knowing Mycroft was right.

Mycroft resumed "I can arrange for the best possible infrastructure and staff to take care of him in there but…"

This time John looked up to his face.

"…but I'm fairly sure he wouldn't approve any of that." He sighed.

"He will need looking after. But I don't see my brother letting unknown people touching him even for medical purposes for as long as he can resist." He looked away as if dejected.

"I'll be there." John said curtly, his voice grave.

"_You_ will?" Asked Mycroft as if what he was hearing was too good to be true.

John got up from his seat. Time to check on Sherlock.

"Though he will have to be here at least for another day or two."

Mycroft nodded and turned around to go out, when he heard John say

"You're not the only one who worries about him, _constantly._"

Mycroft smiled to himself and thought going out of the room

_All it took was another wound to cure the others._

* * *

_Sherlock was standing in front of a beautiful red brick house with a white fence around it. It had a small but well maintained garden in front. The white door was ajar with a Christmas garland on it. He could smell fresh bakery and hear sounds of laughter coming from inside. For some unknown reason Sherlock felt welcomed, as if he was invited and he entered. The house was cosily decorated, it was warm, friendly, bright, charming. Everything about the house reminded of John. There's another door opening into a similar room from where the chatter is coming. Sherlock stands at the doorway as a beautiful scenario unfolds before his eyes. There are three kids, two boys and a girl. All blond, freckled, healthy, happy. On the sofa there was a woman with bright blue eyes, golden hair and warm smile. The kids were playing around her. They were wrapping gifts. The table in front contained steaming tea, cakes, ribbons, wrapping paper, sweets and so many other things. Things that John liked. In front of the sofa, cup in hand, wearing a grey sweater stood John, looking at him, happy, smiling, contended. _

_"Welcome Sherlock! We're so happy you could make it!" he said._

_We?_

_"Well yes! This is my family! That's my beautiful wife and these are my kids!"_

_Sherlock felt dizzy, a nauseating feeling creeping up his neck to choke him._

_"Are you happy John?"_

_"Why of course I am! Look I have everything you thought I wanted! Thank you for leaving me Sherlock. It was really big of you."_

_What do I do now John? _

_"Be gone again! Obviously! Who needs you?"_

_With those words Sherlock felt the floor beneath him give away and he started falling… John's last words echoing in his mind "Who needs you?"_

Suddenly he felt a jerk as if he had hit the ground and a pounding on his chest. He tried to breath but it was difficult and a voice calling him from far away.

"SHERLOCK!"

A scream brought him back to his senses faintly. Opening his eyes the first thing he saw was two golden brown eyes, so familiar, so anxious. Then he felt a pain in his chest. He tried to turn but couldn't. he felt as if something heavy and uncomfortable was attached to his right side. He was trying desperately to grasp things, hold on to the little consciousness he had regained. At least he felt he could breathe properly now and coughed a little. Two warm hands stroked his head and chest. He felt he was sweating, the hands wiped his sweat off his forehead. Sherlock tried to open his eyes and with some effort was able to part his reluctant lids. There was John, hovering over him, stroking him, talking to him.

"It'll be all right, you just had a bad dream, it's okay. It's me."

_His voice is so soothing. He is so soothing. Is this John married? Did he say that he didn't need me?_

Sherlock struggled to get back full consciousness, he took deep breath and opened his eyes fully. His body twisted in the effort and a sharp pain from his lower abdomen jolted him back to reality with a whimper. John was still hovering looking extremely agitated.

_I got stabbed in the alley. _

As full consciousness came back to him Sherlock realized that it had been a dream only. He sighed in relief.

"Better?" John's soft voice drew his attention again.

He swallowed before answering in a husky voice "Yes."

He saw a nurse come in and with an approving nod from John administer a medicine via the IV. He looked back at John who sat beside him on a stool holding his hand in his looking at him intently.

Instead of feeling calm Sherlock suddenly felt extreme agitation and urgency. He pulled at John's hands with all the force he could muster with his still almost limp body which made John get up from the stool and sit beside him on the bed. He felt that nauseating feeling again, his chest became heavy and throat and forehead pained. Two drops of tears fell from his eyes and got lost into his curls leaving a glistening line along their path, he whispered feeling choked

"Sorry."


	18. Chapter 18

**A very special chapter coming up after this one! please keep telling me if you like it or not, you make my day! thank you everyone!**

* * *

It took all the strength John was left with to give Sherlock's hand a firm squeeze and a reassuring smile to the man who was fighting very hard to stay awake. He then stroked his curls and let him drift again under the influence of the medicines. He needed sleep. And John needed to get away. As soon as he felt Sherlock drift into a peaceful slumber John rose slowly, putting the limp hand beside a limp Sherlock and almost ran out of the room trying very hard not to break down on his way to the washroom. He closed the door of the washroom with a bang and slid down along it to the floor, a fist in his mouth holding back the loud sob trying to rip through him. He could feel the tears flowing and wetting his cheeks, running down his neck and soaking his shirt.

_I left this man! This child of a man I left! Oh! What had gotten into me? Am I not the person who knew him best? I was looking for clues to find out his feelings for me. Now he has given me all I can handle. He called me instead of an ambulance. Me! me? the person who left him, didn't understand him. He trusted me with his life again. This would have not happened if I didn't leave him, if I was there with him like always, just in time to move him away from that god forsaken knife which pierced through his body. Oh god and he's sorry. Even now, lying there, he's sorry. I should have known Sherlock. I shouldn't have judged you like others. Yes what you said was wrong but then there are so many times when you say horrible things to people, I over look them, I understand you don't mean to hurt always, sometimes you don't even understand that it was not nice. Oh you child. Why didn't I understand then also? Now I do. You don't have to tell me Sherlock, you don't have to be sorry. I promise I won't leave you again Sherlock. As long as I'm alive. I don't care what you say to me, if you say horrible things again I will scold you, make you understand, if you stay quiet I'll make you talk, I won't leave you like that again. I'll never. _

After pouring his heart out crying John steadied himself. He had to be with Sherlock, for Sherlock. Now was the time to mend things and he would not be able to do it if he lost control. He washed his face and straightened up. Looking into the mirror in front of him, a thought crossed his mind.

_Did he know that I was near? Oh what would have happened if I was not? How could he get stabbed like that? With that kind of reflexes? What had happened? _

* * *

The room was filled with warm sunlight, the curtains were withdrawn, Sherlock was looking outside the window. The bed had been raised a little by the attending nurse. It was midday, still no sign of John. Sherlock didn't even look at the food tray lying in front of him. He wanted to see John. If that was not possible he would just go home.

_Was it possible that he left and would be back only when his duty hours began?_

His heart sank at the thought. Just then his door swung open and like sunbeams invading a dark room John entered, smiling at him, warm, radiating. Sherlock sighed and relaxed. _He was here._

John came close to him, his smell filled Sherlock's senses. _When was the last time you came close to me John? The day I cheated you in the name of a kiss? When I vainly tried to stop you from leaving?_

Sherlock swallowed and watched John longingly, he wished very hard that he had forgiven him, it sounded impossible to himself but then John was not him, he was better. He was John.

John took the readings of the monitors attached to Sherlock intently, all the while fully aware of Sherlock's gaze following him. After a while he sat beside Sherlock on the bed and took his hand in his. Looking with all the love and care in the world he asked him

"How are you feeling this morning?"

Without knowing Sherlock pouted. Why was John so late? Why wasn't he the first thing he saw opening his eyes?

Sensing the petulance John stroked Sherlock's cheek with the back of his hand and asked again, more softly

"How do you feel Sherlock?"

"I thought you'd be late today." Sherlock replied throatily the petulance still there, also the pout.

"I didn't leave Sherlock."

This was enough encouragement for the man. He pulled John closer with both his hands and John complied. The amazing sight of a very cranky, pouty, petulant Sherlock melted his heart. He leaned closer and put a hand on Sherlock's warm cheek. Sherlock leaned into the touch.

"I watched you sleep all night." John whispered.

Sherlock's eyes widened and his breath hitched. _He would still do something like that for me?_

"Now be good and eat." John ordered softly and withdrew his hands. Sherlock whimpered. John gave a small laugh. He held the glass with the juice close to Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock didn't expect this, his eyes widened again and he silently complied, sipping without moving his gaze from John's eyes. After that toasts followed the same path. John didn't remember seeing Sherlock so compliant before. How would he? This was the first time ever. John took a tissue from the tray and wiped Sherlock's mouth tenderly.

"Would you like some sleep now?" Asked John covering Sherlock properly with the blanket.

"I've been out for sixteen hours straight, are you kidding?" The consulting detective was back.

John sighed and looked up to the man. "The more you rest is the faster you get better and get out of this place."

Okay, so this was John and he had hit bull's eye. Sherlock pouted again.

"Okay, maybe a bit later."

Sherlock's petulance gave away at the indulgence. He smiled.

"Would you like to tell me how this happened?" John asked getting serious.

"Oh it was just a robbery, new kid, giddy, struck out of fear, I'll just give the police the description, it'll be very easy for them…"

"You don't have to." John said.

"What?" Sherlock asked surprised.

"He was found in front of the yard this morning all tied up and senseless."

"Homeless network." Sherlock said gravely. John nodded.

"What I was really asking is that how could an unsteady, unprofessional kid stab you and get away."

"Well it was a dark alley and I was tired…" Sherlock started trying to sound nonchalant.

"Sherlock." He was stopped mid-sentence by a very serious and irritated John.

"I got distracted."

"By what?"

Sherlock looked away, the petulance back, lips firmly pressed together.

John got up suddenly and made way for the door.

"I saw you." Came the reply from a very alarmed baritone.

John stopped in his tracks and turned back to sit where he was.

Sherlock was feeling angry at losing his control to John, agitated by the thought that John would blame himself for what happened and terrified about the result all this was going to have. John seemed to have forgiven him, at least he seemed so, Sherlock didn't want to say or do anything that would make things go reverse. He firmly avoided John's questioning gaze. After a while he had to give up when John again tried to rise. He firmly grasped John's hand and pulled. John stopped, fear and plea in Sherlock's grey blue eyes.

"I was trying to divert his attention when I saw you getting down from the cab. It all happened in that few moments."

"Why didn't you call the ambulance instead?"

"I trusted you more."

"Something could have gone wrong Sherlock!" said John frustrated.

"No, not with you." Sherlock said with a confident smile.

John fought the urge to kiss that face. _Not the right time. _Instead he looked at the ground.

"It was not your fault John. Please don't blame yourself."

"Blaming myself won't heal you." John said quietly.

"Then why are you? I'm rather happy that I saw you. You saved me John!"

John looked up. Grey blue eyes extremely persuasive, apprehensive.

The nurse came in, straightened Sherlock's bed and administered medicine. Sherlock looked very reluctant and clung on to John's hands.

"You need to sleep Sherlock." Said John firmly as if scolding a child.

The child shook his curls even more firmly, eyes sleepy, needy, fearful of letting John go "No."

"Please."

"Please be here until I fall asleep."

"I will."

"And when I wake up?"

"I'll be here, always."

Sherlock settled in his pillow, eyes fixed on John, gaze searching reassurance, holding onto his hands. He kept looking until he fell asleep.


	19. Chapter 19

**I Wish...I had someone saying me these...**

* * *

"When will we go home John?"

Sherlock was very happy to see John in the same position before when he woke up. Though he was unaware of his absence when he was deep in sleep. John had let out a sigh of relief when he had reached his very clingy patient before he opened his eyes. The less cranky than before patient was being spoon fed by the doctor right now who gave him a questioning look at the question.

_What? Doesn't he want to come back now? I thought he had forgiven me. Hasn't he? Then why is he here catering to my needs and whims? Oh please John don't do this again!_

Sherlock thought with the last spoon full soup still in his mouth. Eyes wide, questioning, apprehensive, searching.

John fought very hard internally to control his humour at the face in front of him. Then he gravely said

"Sherlock, maybe this is not the right time to talk about this."

Sherlock's face fell as he swallowed. His heart sank at the words. John hadn't forgiven him. He was not coming back.

John felt sad looking at that face but things needed to be sorted out for the sake of future protection. Protection of Sherlock from John, because if Sherlock did anything as stupid as he did before this time the good doctor would become the bad doctor and it'll be his knife and Sherlock's stomach and not in the operation theatre.

Sherlock was silent, looking away.

"Look Sherlock, whatever happened before…"

"For that I am sorry."

"It's okay, but that doesn't change things back."

"What does John?" Sherlock looked into John's eyes. Grey blue eyes pleading, _I'll do anything to get you back._

At that very moment Sarah entered the room.

_Why is she here? Is she here for John? Doesn't she know that things are good between us again? Doesn't she know John doesn't need her anymore? Or does he? Is she the reason?_

Sherlock got angry without any apparent reason. He just couldn't show his anger because of that. He needed some occasion to vent his anger on Sarah.

"Hello John, came to see your patient. How's he doing?"

"Fine." Came a curt reply from a very grave baritone.

Sarah pursed her lips to hold back a grin and looked at John who was equally amused. Sherlock got angrier at not getting the joke.

"It's nice of you Sarah, would you like to…" John was cut off mid-sentence by the baritone.

"Leave now?"

John looked apologetically at Sarah suppressing another grin. Sarah looked equally amused.

"No! I think I'll spend some time here." She said energetically looking for a place to sit. John showed her the stool and she sat looking at Sherlock who was infuriated and looking sternly at John.

"John I think I can get infected by people from outdoors." He said with a very serious face.

"Are you kidding? Sarah's a doctor!"

"She's a psychiatrist. I have a stab wound and it's not psychosomatic, I don't think I need her expert opinion right now."

"Oh! I'm just here to keep John company." Sarah said looking sweetly at John who returned the look.

Something inside Sherlock just burned. He wanted to throw Sarah out of the window. He wanted to shake John back to his senses.

"John doesn't need company. He. Has. Me." Sherlock hissed at Sarah.

"Not lately." Sarah made an innocent face.

"Well now he has!" Sherlock almost screamed.

It startled them both.

"He doesn't need you anymore Sarah and he'll never need you again. Please leave us." Sherlock said panting, trying hard to regain his composure.

Sarah got up from her seat looking least affected, John and Sarah exchanged a look which Sherlock could not decipher and she went away saying

"I hope he doesn't."

As the door closed behind her Sherlock looked at John who was very successfully keeping up a serious face.

"That was not a good thing to do Sherlock. She helped me when…"

"That is past now John. Look at me I am here." Sherlock said pleading.

"You're in a hospital Sherlock, because you were hurt. You'll get well soon and leave again." John said looking at the soup bowl in his hands.

"

Not without you." Sherlock said with finality.

"Why would I come with you?" John asked incredulously.

"Because I love you. You know it. don't deny it. I hate myself for not knowing it and not running after you when I finally did understand. I'm a fool, I'm an idiot. I don't deserve you and you don't deserve a git like me. But it can't be helped now. If I have to live my life in this hospital, in this bed, as much injured and in pain just to have you beside me like this all the time, I am ready to get stabbed every day for the rest of my life."

Time stood still. So did John's heart.

_Did he actually say those things? Or am I imagining?_

"Once you told me when we were in Lincolnshire, that when two people love each other they form a relationship."

John nodded, still not believing what he was hearing, eyes wide, mouth slightly opened.

"I want to change everything I did and say and think before that and what I did and say afterwards. I just want to go back to that moment and take you in my arms and say, John we have formed it a long time ago."

John let out a breath from his mouth, he had to look away to check his tears from falling.

"Sherlock do you even know…"

"No John, I don't know. I don't know anything about love, relationships, feelings, I hardly know enough about friendship. All I know is my work John. And the fact that since I met you, you've made me work. When you left I didn't work anymore."

John looked at Sherlock warily thinking he was going back to the phase where he thought John was _useful_ to him.

"By work I mean solving cases, by work I mean thinking properly, by work I mean remembering to eat, by work I mean to remember that I am not a machine, by work I mean to live properly, by work I mean to breathe properly."

Sherlock was anxious, agitated, he was in pain. He was sitting for a far too long time, he was struggling with his breath and wincing with pain. John got up and put the bowl down. He straightened Sherlock's bed so he was lying now. Sherlock's eyes never left John, enquiring, earnest, sincere. When John was done he took his hand and put it on his beating heart. John shivered at the touch and the feeling of the beating. This heart belonged to him. He could hardly breathe, he feared if he breathed the tear drops he was so carefully holding up will fall unceremoniously, giving him away again.

"I want to compensate John, the time lost not knowing myself, not knowing you. I want to compensate my harsh words to you which pierced you and left you bloody with words as soothing as a sociopath like me can manage. I want to compensate the hurt I've caused you with my life."

John swallowed closing his eyes. It was now just impossible to control the tears. They just seeped out on their own.

"I ask you to forgive me for only one thing." Sherlock was panting now, all the talking and emotional outburst was having a toll on him, but he couldn't stop now. He feared that if all this didn't come out today, they won't ever get a chance to come out ever again. He spoke with all he had.

"For letting you go. I shouldn't have ever let you and I would never again."

John stroked Sherlock's hair with his free hand and said in a choked voice almost inaudible

"Please sleep Sherlock."

"Don't leave me John"

"I won't."

Sherlock let out a deep breath closing his eyes for a moment, as if relieved. John sat next to him holding his hand in his, pressing light kisses on it, looking at Sherlock until he fell asleep.

John never knew he could cry so much, that too when he was overwhelmingly happy.


	20. Chapter 20

**Should I continue? or should I just end it here? on the sweet, pink, swollen lips of the only consulting detective?**

* * *

"Lincolnshire!" John exclaimed extremely disturbed.

"He wants to." Replied Mycroft curtly.

"Mycroft , among the Holmes brothers I expected you to have the sanity at least." John said sternly.

"And I have fulfilled your _expectation. _It is my brother who is above all expectations." He replied sarcastically.

"And you are complying with it."

"What choice do I have? You know him!" Mycroft said with a look of mock despair.

John took a deep breath and calmed himself. Arguing was not going to get him anywhere. He tried logic.

"Mycroft, it hasn't been merely three days since your brother has been under the knife. He is weak, he needs rest, he needs full medical attention. As his doctor, as his friend" _and his lover_ "I can't allow him such a long journey right now."

"He will have a full facility ambulance always at his disposal, the farm house would be duly refurnished with medical equipment and you would be there." Mycroft said as if it was the most obvious and practical thing in the world and John was an utter git not understanding this.

"Mycroft, please understand that this…"

"He's your patient doctor, you know how to handle him, all I am proposing is that if you end up complying with your very stubborn patient's wishes, you'll find everything ready." With that and a nod he was gone.

John let out a half angry half dreadful breath and went to see his above mentioned stubborn, petulant, adorable patient.

"I won't eat. I won't sleep and I won't take medicines."

_Stubbornness personified. _John thought as he looked at the full grown man before him sitting on his bed covering his head with a pillow. He won't remove it even after much coaxing. He hadn't taken the medicine. _This was not good. _

"Sherlock we can both feed you and administer medicine through the pipes you know?" John said angrily. Sherlock didn't remove the pillow.

"You'll be in pain." John said looking at the pillow "and so will I."

That worked. Sherlock removed the pillow reluctantly and looked up at an unyielding, scornful John. He blinked and looked away.

John fed him, gave him medicine, tucked him into bed and sat beside him stroking his hair. Sherlock was pouting again. John smiled. _Does he even know he does that?_

"I have to go to Lincolnshire." Said a very petulant baritone.

"Why?" John's voice was soft.

"I left something unfinished there." He said looking longingly at John.

John understood. But still he didn't comply.

"We can do it later."

"Nope. I don't think you'd be so generous with my whims when I'm better. I don't want to miss this chance." Sherlock said shaking his head.

John laughed. _Oh you bloody git_. "When do I not yield to your whims Sherlock? Even the last time it was _your_ whim. "

Sherlock's face fell. He looked pained. Eyes imploring John. "It's not just a whim this time John. I want to start from there again. Make it what it should have been."

John's smile vanished at Sherlock's demeanor. He took his hands in his and held them tightly, warmly, lovingly. He looked reassuringly at Sherlock. "It's okay."

"Please John, I'll do anything you say." Sherlock swallowed, expression still pained.

"Not today." John said lovingly and sighed, who could deny anything this full grown child? _Mycroft was right_.

Sherlock was grinning like the Cheshire cat. He took John's hands and put his curly haired head in it firmly and purred. He was elated.

John in turn pulled the head closer and putting his nose in the thick curly bush he breathed. He inhaled Sherlock's scent, his warmth, his very own flavor, his blood rushing through the veins and even his thoughts. Sherlock very gently pulled out of John's hands and looked up to meet the warm, loving gaze of the man he loved. And suddenly his breathing was ragged, pulse erratic, heart pounding. He felt his hands which were holding John's shake lightly. John was so close, so very close. Yet he feared to do what his heart was telling him to do. He couldn't move, couldn't touch John any further as if John was only a vision in front of him which would dissolve into oblivion if touched. He revelled in the sight and the touch he had already allowed himself. John felt the time stop again. He felt there was no other soul on this earth, no other movement, no other sound. Just he and Sherlock breathing. For the first time he saw a golden glow in those steely blue eyes, was the reflection of his own irises? As if to look closer he leaned a bit more. Sherlock felt John's breath on his face, his nose and lips. He Shivered, John's breath sweeping on his lips were as much savoury as his lips would be. Had he ever been so close to Sherlock? John thought. No, he had never been. He could actually see Sherlock's pupils dilating. He could see Sherlock's nose flaring up a bit with every intake of breath. He could study all the fine lines on Sherlock's beautiful full lips. The cupid brow, the place where it twists downwards when he gives a sarcastic smile, the pink insides of the lower lip and the giveaway hollow between the two lips which told John that Sherlock was breathing through his mouth, that he was excited. The moment was so intense, so delicate that any sound, even the sound of a pin dropping could break it. But nothing like that happened. There was no sound. John closed the gap between them by taking Sherlock's lower lip between his lips. Sherlock sighed but didn't move a muscle. He closed his eyes in full surrender. John did the same thing with his upper lip too. He withdrew himself a little to see Sherlock's expression, who he felt was not breathing. He thought he could die for this sight. Sherlock's eyes were closed, his lips were quivering, breathing shallow and he was flushed pink. There were goose bumps on his neck. John's hands were on the sides of his face and he was holding them in place with his hands over them, head bent a little low, lips still parted, total surrender in his demeanour.

John couldn't help but put both of his lips on those inviting plush lips again. This time fully covering the mouth. Sherlock kissed him back. It was a small chaste kiss. John withdrew to look back again. This time Sherlock's eyes were open. They were intense, they were pleading, they were full of tears. John shook his head looking into them as if telling the tears not to fall and he held Sherlock's face firmly and put his mouth on his again. His tongue invaded Sherlock's mouth without obstruction. After a while Sherlock's hesitant tongue tip met John's and they both shivered. Something passed through them, some wave, some energy, some emotion or just passion, whatever it was it couldn't be described. It was impossible and it was theirs. They felt like they were a heart, pumping life into some body. One undivided vital organ.

After what seemed like ages John came back to his senses. He held Sherlock's hands and took them down. He withdrew his lips with some final chaste kisses from a very reluctant Sherlock. But they were in a hospital, in the middle of the day and Sherlock was hurt. Period.

"I love you." Those three words from a pink slightly swollen mouth of an extremely lovable consulting detective and John lost all self-control again. He held Sherlock's face firmly by both hands and placed numerous kisses all over. At last he was contented and so was his patient. They both smiled and laughed.

"Tomorrow then?" Asked a 'very much under the influence of the kiss' Sherlock.

"Yes." Breathed his doctor.


	21. Chapter 21

_No surveillance this time. Make good use of the opportunity. M.H._

_Shut up. S.H._

They had reached Lincolnshire by noon the next day and now John was making tea in the kitchen and Sherlock was lying on the couch lazily. John was against this but Sherlock insisted. He wanted to watch John, he didn't want to miss one moment of this stay. As if he was compensating not seeing John for some days.

"You should really lie down on the bed you know, you look exhausted." John said putting tea and biscuits on the table in front. Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and looked at John who was looking for a place to sit facing Sherlock, the arm chairs were too heavy to move. Sherlock's movement ended his dilemma. He sat on the sofa with the curly haired head on his lap.

"Ummmmmmmm." Sherlock sounded contended as he rubbed his head against John's lap and closed his eyes.

John took a cup and held it with both hands avoiding touching Sherlock purposefully.

"Do you hear that John?"

John listened intently for a while, there was nothing.

"No, what?"

"Nothing." Said Sherlock taking a deep relaxing breath and closing his eyes again.

"You hate silence Sherlock." Said John grinning at the very catlike consulting detective in his lap.

"Not when the only sound is your breathing." Sherlock said looking into John's eyes in a voice like silk.

John controlled the impulse of splattering the tea all over them and spoke in an utterly surprised voice "Sherlock Holmes do you even know how utterly romantic that just sounded?" and he started laughing.

"It did. Didn't it?" Said Sherlock grinning.

He turned to his side and hid his face in John's wool covered stomach and breathed. The sensation made John's hand's shake a little. He put down the cup but still didn't touch Sherlock. Sherlock put his arms around John's waist with some effort and pressed his face some more to his stomach and growled. When John still didn't comply he wriggled suggestively. John could feel him pouting. With a small laugh he complied. He started stroking his curls with one hand and rested the other on the small of Sherlock's back. Sherlock was warm. _Very warm_. Sherlock gave out a contended sigh. After a while he spoke

"Mum used to do that." His voice muffled buried in John sweater.

"Do you miss her?"

"More when I'm with you." Sherlock said breathily. John knew Sherlock was falling asleep, the journey had exhausted him. He drew lines on his scalp softly and stroked his back with the other hand. Within a few moments the man on his lap was breathing deeply, he was asleep. John carefully retrieved the cup back and sipped contemplating.

_Sherlock fell asleep in my lap. How incredible is that? Be like this always Sherlock._

As if on cue Sherlock hummed in his sleep. He was dreaming. Continuing to stroke those beautiful soft curls John started to daydream himself.

Sherlock felt cold and uncomfortable, he woke up slowly to find himself in John's lap on the sofa. It was getting dark outside and cold inside. John was looking at him with an amused smile.

"Hi." Said Sherlock smiling sleepily.

"Hi, feeling better?"

"How long have I been sleeping?"

"For a few hours."

"God! You must be starving and cold! I'm so sorry John." Sherlock said hurriedly getting up and winding in pain.

"Relax! I'm fine, you are the one who should get some food now." John said anxiously helping Sherlock.

"I don't remember sleeping that good, excluding the times being under the influence of any kind of drug that is." Sherlock said matter-of-factly. To which John quirked and eyebrow.

"I'm glad that you did but I don't think my back will agree to this on a regular basis." He said rubbing his stiffened back.

"I'll make you tea." Said Sherlock smiling shyly.

_Oh you're adorable. _"Sit, have your medicine, let me change your bandage."

Sherlock obeyed.

"Thank you" said John as he finished bandaging Sherlock's wound afresh. Sherlock who was looking at him intently quirked an eyebrow questioningly.

John didn't see it and as he was getting up from the sofa he was pulled back firmly by the lying detective.

"I am the one who should thank you!" said Sherlock bemused.

"Oh! It was because you were being a good boy." Explained John "listening to everything I said."

Sherlock gave a childish smile and tugged at John's hands again. John bent down and kissed him on the forehead lightly. Sherlock didn't let go of his hand, he was eager for more. John laughed and tore away from his grip making his way to the kitchen. Dinner was ready and put in the microwave. He started about setting the table when he felt a very warm presence in the room. He smiled and said without looking,

"What is it now?"

The answer was an overwhelming hug from behind him. A warm face pressed into his neck, two long hands snaked around his torso firmly and a deep humming noise from a rich baritone.

John tilted his head backward and made an exasperated sound.

"Let go Sherlock, you have to eat now." He said affectionately.

"But I've been a good boy! I deserve a reward!" came a very demanding reply from behind.

He sighed and turned around. He took Sherlock's face in his hands. Sherlock's eyes gleamed in anticipation. John put his lips on Sherlock's for a quick chaste kiss and pulled away forcing Sherlock's hands away from him. Sherlock pouted, reluctant to let go, evidently not happy with the length of the kiss.

"Now you're being a bad boy. No kiss for a week then."

He let go hurriedly and sat at the table grouchily.

"This is stupid."

John gave him a stern look. To which he replied.

"I'm a grown man!"

"Then behave like one!" said John exasperated.

Then Sherlock did what he did best. He started sulking.

John turned his full attention to the work at hand. Musing on the change that had come over them both in such little time. He wasn't nervous around Sherlock anymore and Sherlock was openly childish. He felt good. He felt at ease.

"Eat."

"Nope."

"You're being a bad boy again."

"Yes. I've lost one week, I'm compensating."

"Oh come on! It was a joke!"

"really?" Sherlock said quirking up an eyebrow.

"Yes, now please eat."

Sherlock started fiddling with his food.

John saw it and like the nanny he thought he was as always he took a spoonful of pasta from his own plate and held it in front of Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock looked up and in a moment cleaned the spoon down and said,

"I'm so hungry John!"

_There we go! _Thought John as he fed a full plate to the hungry man in front of him. Along went the salad.

After putting a contended looking Sherlock to bed John felt his duties for the day were over. He was extremely tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep. He trudged through the daily chores like changing and brushing and felt relieved as soon as his back touched the soft mattress on the plush Victorian bed. But to his utter dismay he found that he couldn't sleep. He was bothered about Sherlock. He had left his door ajar just in case Sherlock wanted something and called. Yet he didn't feel it sufficient.

_Maybe I should have asked to stay there with him. He wouldn't mind. but that would be too…too intimate. Oh heck we are in a relationship!_

He kept arguing with himself for a long time until he heard a small creak of the door and feather light footsteps approaching his bed. He instinctively removed the duvet from the other side of the bed knowing fully who he was inviting. He felt the mattress sink a bit with the weight of the long lean figure. He turned around and covered Sherlock properly.

"I couldn't…"

"Shh." He stroked the curls and settled down, sleep inviting him again. As soon as he was almost drifting off he felt a warm curly haired head resting against his chest, his body wrapped in long limbs protectively. He let out a deep comforting breath and rested his head on the curls and drifted off.


	22. Chapter 22

**Read this while listening to Una por cabeza. Thank you everyone for your kind support, generous reviews, following and favoriting. Thank you for making my first attempt a success. Love and respect to you all.**

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It had been a week of bliss and togetherness. They took long walks hand in hand, cuddled, stayed silent in each-other's arms for long hours, slept listening to each other's heart beat and talked like they had never talked before. Yet it was just the beginning.

They were back in Baker Street. John was home, making lunch. Sherlock was sitting on the sofa with John's laptop.

John entered the living room with two bowls of spaghetti in his hands and placed them on the table before Sherlock. Then he sat beside a still engrossed Sherlock.

"Lunch" he said trying to get his attention.

"I had biscuits this morning." The baritone mumbled.

"Sherlock, we went through this before."

Sherlock looked up from the computer released an exasperated sigh and closed it. He put it aside on the table and put his knees together on the sofa and put his hands around them. A defensive posture when he was reluctant to eat.

John huffed and took a bowl, taking a spoonful he reached out to Sherlock's mouth.

"I made your favorite!" he said in a sing songy way to make Sherlock smile, but he didn't. Sherlock just shook his head.

"Sherlock please?"

Another Shake of the head.

"What will it take to make you eat?" he asked a bit angrily.

Sherlock made eye contact for the first time and gave a sweet smile.

John made an inquiring face.

Sherlock opened his mouth slightly and put out his tongue. There was a shiny metallic band around it. It was a platinum _ring_.

John's breath hitched as his mouth went agape. His hands started shaking slightly which Sherlock noticed. He took the things from John's hands and put them on the table. He went in front of John and knelt before him with his hands on John's knees and again opened his mouth and put out his bejeweled tongue. John had forgotten how to move until Sherlock's warm hands touched his knees. He swallowed hard and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. John's eyes were already wet as he started to shake his head slowly, thousands of thoughts passing between them silently.

_"No Sherlock."_

_"Why?"_

_"We are not ready."_

_"I am."_

_"This relationship has just started."_

_"And all I want is to establish it further."_

_"We should take time."_

_"For what?"_

_"To see if this works out."_

_"If it doesn't, would you be able to go this far with anyone else?"_

_"Never."_

_"So why not? Once you told me that relationship is just the next step. So is this. Can't you do this for me?"_

_"I can die for you."_

_"So can I."_

And that was it. They could die for each other and it was all they needed to know to take the big leap. John put the tip of his ring finger on the tip of Sherlock's tongue and Sherlock smoothly pushed the ring with his teeth onto his finger. John shivered with pleasure. They held each other's faces in their hands and kissed for a long long time. Before withdrawing Sherlock licked away the tears on John's cheeks. He sat beside him, holding him close when Sherlock's phone vibrated.

John chuckled and said "There we go. A case. So much for marital bliss."

Sherlock tensed a bit and scratched his neck nervously.

"What?" John said frowning.

Sherlock gave him an apologetic glance, "Actually…em…it was a case."

"You solved it without me?" John said with mocking dismay.

Sherlock smiled and said, "Over the phone. It was dull!" he said explaining. John held him closer for a moment and then sighed.

Noticing John thinking Sherlock inquired,

"What?"

"Just thinking that all the cases cannot be solved over phone. We'll get back to it soon. The chasing, running, jumping…_danger_."

"I thought you loved it!"

"Not when there's fear of losing you, losing _us_ is attached. I was always afraid of it Sherlock, more so now."

Sherlock took John's head in his hands and looked deeply into his eyes.

"John, the prospect of dying lives with every breath we take. There are so many people out there who do not live like us yet they die. They die of old age, of sickness, in accidents every day. There will always remain a possibility of one of us leaving another behind but we will always have something to hold on to if something like that happens."

John looked at Sherlock questioningly.

"Memories John" said Sherlock endearingly.

"We will always have these moments John to live them over and over again. We would remember this day when we decided to entwine our lives forever, we would remember the things we did together. We would even remember how your stomach growls angrily!" He said with a small laugh. John laughed too and held him as close as possible burying his head in Sherlock's neck weeping.

Their hearts kept beating together creating new memories every day.

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**Love stories do not end...**


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